Date 36 - Pre-Game Waffles with Jer-Bear

Jeremy offered to take me on a date before our volleyball game. The team that we play on together is called Waffles, and it is made up of some of the loveliest, funniest and kindest people I’ve met. Don’t get me wrong, we have a sassier side, but the Waffles are generally sweethearts. Jer Bear is no exception.

Love my Waffles

We met while playing volleyball. Jeremy is supremely easygoing, very smiley and a naturally gifted athlete. He works at the local University doing something awfully clever and is probably amazing at it. He and my friend Liz have been seeing each other for a while, so when he asked me on a date, I assumed it was with her permission (pretty much my only correct assumption, as you will see) but double-checked anyway. She asked me not to allow him to fall in love with me (Easiest favour ever!) and told me to have a great evening.

Yay, Waffles gear!

Because Jer Bear enjoys a good theme (a man after my own heart), he suggested we go for a pre-Waffles dinner at a local restaurant that specializes in waffles. He told me to wear my “finest waffles attire.” I wondered about this for a while, but concluded that it meant that I was supposed to wear my Team Waffles uniform, which meant that I would not have to navigate my massive pile of unfolded clean laundry, and that I could wear sweatpants and a sports bra. (Best date ever!) A couple of days before our date, Jer Bear texted me to let me know that we’d have to alter our plans. The waffle restaurant (for whatever incomprehensible reason) closes at 3pm. He proposed that we go to a restaurant on campus instead. He assured me that they serve waffles there, and I was psyched.

Since we were meeting at 7, I figured it was to be a dessert date. My cupboards are on the bare side these days (groceries are another thing I’ve been neglecting in the hectic-ness of Lent) so I made myself some Kraft Dinner, put on my Waffles attire and got ready for my date.
 



How I ought to
have dressed

We met up in the parking lot. Jer Bear rolled up in his adorably quirky van. I was giggling at it when he stepped out and I realized that I had made a mistake. He wore a collared shirt, dress pants and snazzy shoes. He was not dressed for volleyball; he was dressed for a date. His idea of “finest waffles attire” and mine were entirely different. (The importance of capitalization cannot be overstressed. I should have known!) I looked like an idiot, and a slob. We laughed about it, but he didn’t seem to mind so I eventually stopped berating myself (Biggest twit ever!) and just relaxed.  

It’s been a while since I was on campus. I’d been to a concert, but hadn’t walked through the area in daylight since 2010 when I took some additional open studies courses there. The place had changed a lot, and yet hardly at all. There was a massive new building that I was pretty sure hadn’t been there seven years ago. The students milling around had gotten more baby-faced, paler and spottier. But the essentials were all the same.

When I’d first gone to school at the University, there was a lounge in the main student area that was reserved for graduate students. I’d always thought of it as The Forbidden Lounge. Jer Bear assures me that back in the days when I didn’t have the academic standing to get in, the place was a dive (not in a good way, like the total dive karaoke bar that Kirk and I went to on St Patrick’s Day) and not worth going to. In the years since, it’s been redone and is now open to the public, even lowly undergrads, or sad schmucks who only have Bachelor of Arts degrees. Yay!
 

What I imagine the lounge looked like in the 'good old days'

Jer Bear walked me confidently past the invisible velvet rope, and into a lounge with pool tables and a friendly atmosphere. I think the fact that I looked like an underdressed slattern may have even accentuated the experience for me. We continued chatting (oh yeah, storytelling glitch, we’d been chatting amicably the entire time so far) about live sports and our jobs and jobs we’d like to have. It took ages for an overworked, insanely young-looking server to approach our table. We were perched at a tall table near the windows and the pool tables. A guy asked me to move so that he could take a shot, and it he made it worth it when he sunk the 14 ball corner pocket.

We ordered drinks (Yay, cider!) and nachos. We talked about volleyball and dating and storytelling and books. For dessert, we got a Belgian waffle with ice cream and whipped cream and several different kinds of syrup drizzled on top. It was crispy and delicious. I was now officially overstuffed with waffley goodness. Although it was a misunderstanding and thus embarrassing, I was now happy to be wearing sweatpants that had room for my tummy full of food.
 

We walked over to the parking lot and got our volleyball gear. Games that night were super fun (as always), although I am not sure if Jer Bear and I were jumping quite as high as usual.