I have never, ever been on a date. For someone who can describe a perfect date even while in the middle of REM sleep, it is rather appalling that I have never, ever been on a date. I have ‘hung out’ with guys, and I have been ‘taken out’ by guys, but I have never, ever been on a date. I do not think I have ever had a man say to me, “Let me take you out on a date.” If a man has said that, then there is only one reason why I cannot remember it: going on a date with him would have been a waste of my time and his. Either that or he asked for a date as if he was doing me a favor. He might have said something like, “Don’t worry, I’ll take you out on a date.”
I have never, ever gone out on that date – that one where the dashing young man who is crazy about me just cannot wait to come and whisk me away from my house. We set our date for seven PM, but he shows up at six fifty-nine. He does not stay downstairs and blow his horn like a taxi cab. He does not call my cell phone and say, “I’m downstairs. Hurry up, I’m double-parked.” He comes to meet me upstairs with a surprise – not a bouquet of flowers. Flowers are wonderful, but they have become lazy gifts – the thoughtless things you give because you are too lazy to think of something thoughtful.
He comes instead with something different – like a pack of starburst candy. It can be gotten for ninety-nine cents at the gas station, and it is my favorite candy. Or maybe he comes with that little paper that is tucked inside a fortune cookie – the one that tells one’s alleged fortune. I love those too. Maybe he comes with something blue (like nail polish); blue is my favorite color. What about a funny Nigerian movie? The simplest things in life can sometimes bring the biggest joy.
So he comes upstairs looking suave. He is not wearing a pair of extra-tight jeans that is squeezing the life out of his crotch, and neither is he wearing a pair of jeans that looks like it is begging to reach the ground. He’s dressed in a semi-formal way. We do not have to have the regular date which is dinner and a movie. In fact, I would prefer that we do not have the regular date. We could catch a play instead. If the weather is warm and time permits, we could go ride those little bumper cars. We could go listen to some soulful poetry. And I bet no one ever thought of this, but we could go to church. What better foundation to lay than God? Recently, church has been one of the best places I have attended.
After the date, he will take me home and walk me back to my house. He will not lurk around and hope for a nightcap, and he will not guilt me into asking him to spend the night by asking to see my album and then beginning to yawn in the middle of it while saying, “Boy, I’m so tired. I hope I don’t have an accident on the road and die.” He will not attempt to steal a kiss; this action has not worked out well for his predecessors. Many have tried, and just as many have failed.
He will instead give me a hug – one that says I-had-a-nice-time-and-I-hope-we-can-do-this-again-soon. He will proceed to plant a warm kiss on each eye. Kisses on the cheeks are so ordinary; I would rather have my eyes kissed. He may, if he wishes, stare at me for an uncalculated amount of time until I blush and flash him a smile, revealing my vote of confidence in him. He will then smile too and scratch his head – the scratch that says this-babe-is-scattering-my-head. And then, he will leave.
He will call me on his way home to thank me for such a fantastic date. I would decline his thanks and say that he owes me no thanks. I will thank him instead. For a few minutes, we will argue over who should thank who. We will agree to disagree. I will get off the phone and let him concentrate on his driving. As soon as I get off the phone, I will smile from ear to ear – the kind of smile I will not be caught doing while taking a picture. He will call me when he gets home to tell me he has gotten home. We will talk till two or three or four in the morning about anything, everything, and nothing. We will say our goodnights; I will fall asleep with the phone on my chest and dream dreamy dreams of my date. That is the kind of date I am talking about. I have never, ever been on a date like that – or anything remotely close to it. But obviously, I have had plenty of time to imagine it.
These days, when men say they want to take you out on a date, they are already calculating how much you will have to pay them back in kind. I believe that taking a girl out on a date is not a necessity, nor is it a law. Whatever is worth doing, is worth doing well. If you must take her out on a date, do it right. What exactly is the point of taking a girl out and then asking her at the end of the date if she will come back to your place? Seriously, what the heck is that about? I find it rather insulting, and not to mention, amusing. But I cannot blame the men completely anyway. Some of us have been found to be flattered by such derogatory statements. That being said, I could not care less about anyone’s date right now. What I care about is mine – the one I have never been on.
Is it not a bit problematic that at my age, I have never been on a date? It is days like this one that make me wonder if my fears and preconceived notions are true: are there really no Nigerian or at least African men on E-Harmony dot com? That website has promised to match me on twenty-nine different dimensions of compatibility. That is a whole lot more than what I have been able to do for myself. And what about Match dot com? Dr. Phil has told me that it is okay to look there. So I have looked – but just at their home page. I am not quite ready to divulge into anything else yet. Chemistry dot com has vowed to find me a person who will make me go weak in the knees. Now, that is the kind of passion I want!
When I go on a date like the aforementioned one, I will have officially been on a date. But who will be brave enough to not only date me jeje, but also date me tender? That is the trillion-dollar question. This cannot be the conclusion of this story. I must come back and write about how I was jejely and tenderly dated. All I need to figure out now is the title of the upcoming write-up. Allow me, however, to end this one like a Nigerian movie: To God Be The Glory. Watch Out For Part II.