I recently went on, what most would call, a date.
I hesitantly call it a date, not because it wasn't fun, quite the contrary. I’m just not really into putting labels on things. I call a fun evening what many categorize as a date.
(Read the previous sentence aloud in your best Billy Bob Thornton voice from Slingblade).
Before anyone preemptively lunges toward me, tossing “Non-committal, Mommy Issues” in my general direction, please allow me to clarify.
There’s a certain awkwardness associated with formal attachments.
Example: We need you to speak at a “forum” tomorrow morning.
Forum?? That sounds pretty intense. Images of grumpy elders flash through my head by hearing the very word “forum.” I'm visualizing mean men, staring at me judgmentally, waiting for me to screw up!
With it being a forum and all, these people must be pretty serious. I’ll bet I’m standing over a trap door and, as soon as I utter something that angers Jabba the Hut, I’m going to immediately be dropped into a pit with a three headed monster who is sleep and food deprived.
A monster who is angry and hungry, like my obese 6th grade teacher; I’ll become an appetizer (mainly because I weigh about 150) and then Mrs. Watson...I mean, the angry beast, will take his nap and wait for the next dunce who makes his verbal misstep above ground.
Allow me to demystify the word forum:
A forum is typically comprised of an audience and a panel, most of which want to be somewhere else. Except for one or two sycophants with way too much time on their hands. The guys who regularly inform the boss that employees are taking long breaks, having sex with the receptionist, smoking weed, doing the aforementioned simultaneously in the employee bathroom ON their breaks, etc .
It’s a meeting, usually a gripe session.
In talking with friends, I found that many others feel the same about attaching such stigmatic titles to things, especially "Dating.” Call it what you will, but it boils down to either good or bad conversation; You either enjoy the company or you don’t.
I learned from Geneology.com that in ancient times, many of the first marriages were by capture, not choice - when there was a scarcity of nubile women, men raided other villages for wives. If they aired this program on Tru TV...I'm sooo there!
Frequently the tribe from which a warrior stole a bride would come looking for her and it was necessary for the warrior and his new wife to go into hiding to avoid being discovered; Sort of like the weapons of mass destruction and/or Dick Cheney.
Sounds romantic.
Me and my lady simply went to eat; we enjoyed a nice stroll and then a few drinks. Nothing compared to those hopeless romantics of barbaric yesteryear. It never occurred to me that I should resurrect the tradition of tribal warfare on a first date. I save that for the third date.
According to an old French custom, (and we all know what the French are famous for: That's right...obnoxiousness.)
According to the country of cheese, infidelity and wine, as the moon went through all phases a new couple drank a brew called Metheglin (This sounds too close to Meth for me).
This concoction was made from honey. Hence, we get the word honeymoon.
Arranged marriages were the norm; Primarily, they were business relationships borne out of the desire and/or need for property, monetary or political alliances. For some, I think this standard might still apply. This deal sounds eerily similar to that of a recently divorced friend of mine.
Personally, there’s nothing sexy or spine tingling about creating a council and a chairman to oversee the dating process. Plus, when the time comes, that would include way too many people in the bedroom for my taste.
I also learned from Geneology.com that during the Victorian Era, romantic love became viewed as the primary requirement for marriage and courting became even more formal…almost an art form...among the upper classes. A gentleman could not simply walk up to a young lady and begin a conversation as though they were stumbling through "The Drunk Frog" in Cozumel after 2-thousand margaritas.
Even after being introduced, it was still some time before it was considered appropriate for a man to speak to a lady or for a couple to be seen together. Oddly, this is standard protocol in the Middle-east and for some couples that I know who have been together for years. I suppose past IS indeed prologue.
Once those crazy kids of the Victorian era had been formally introduced, if the gentleman wished to escort the lady home, he would present his card to her. At the end of the evening the lady would look over her options and choose who would be her escort.
She would notify the lucky gentleman by giving him her own card, requesting that he escort her home. If the courting progressed, the couple might advance to the front porch and then the backseat of a 1991 Toyota Corolla.
Smitten couples rarely saw each other without the presence of a chaperon and marriage proposals were frequently written.
I suspect that I would have been hanged, drawn, quartered and/or burned at the stake during this era.
Nonetheless, it sounds like a lot of paperwork to me. If only one owned a Kinko’s in the 1830’s they’d be rich.
Again, on MY date, we just went out to eat and had a few drinks. I DID open the door for her though.
I remember once, in my wilder days, I went on a date and at the end of the evening we happened across a mutual friend. The three of us chatted for a bit (by chatted, I mean we had three shots of Tequila) and before sunrise we found ourselves 400-miles away at the beach in South Florida.
Not to worry, our friend (who NEVER gets laid) drove; he did not partake in shots. I suppose his presence qualified as a chaperon. Now that I think about it, I believe sand in a chastity belt would be quite uncomfortable.
Another date memory was when I visited a former colleague in Chicago. A 24-hour trip ended 3-days later in Lacrosse, Wisconsin. Don‘t ask. I enjoyed Lacrosse but my boss was less than amused when a 1-week vacation extended past 13-days and involved a slight run-in with Wisconsin state authorities.
Perhaps my favorite “date” visual comes from a friend of mine, Marie. She told me that one time she went on a double date and tooled around town in an MG; Even better, they went to a festival in Lower Manhattan and won “The Big Banana.” Four people in a two-seater with a stuffed, 6-foot banana. The clowns in a Volkswagen will NEVER top this visual. I’m not sure what role the banana may or may not have played later in the evening and I didn’t ask.
Even though my “date” didn't involve tribal kidnapping, nor the exchange of cards with the Queen of England’s stamp of approval or the “Big Banana” (keep your head out of the gutter) it appears to have gone just fine. She still talks to me and I learned how to maximize the cushion space on a chaise lounge patio seat. So, I suppose that I didn't do anything stupid.
Enjoying another’s company, whether it be over dinner, drinks, a walk or on the phone, needs no formal event title. It can be with a buddy or it can be with someone who you would greatly like to see naked; No pressures or stigmas needed...
Unless you look down and notice that you’re standing over a trap door.
copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2010
