Our Love Story, Part 1: The First Date

I am what you might call a late bloomer. Like, a LATE late bloomer. By the time I graduated from college, I'd been on a grand total of TWO dates, one of which was in 7th grade (a bowling date during which I scored a 27, ouch) and the other of which was a "Pick a Date for Your Roommate" during which my poor roommate despaired of ever finding anyone willing to go out with me (shout-out to Tedd, on whom I had a horribly embarrassing crush, and who was a complete trooper despite being totally uninterested in me).

Over the course of the next 15 years or so, I went out on a blind date or two, and even had a (very) short-lived long distance "relationship" that lasted a month or two. But never any kind of serious relationship. It wasn't until I turned 38 and got an invitation for my 20-year high school reunion that I stopped and realized that if I was ever going to have a husband and kids, I'd better get moving. That particular ship may not have actually sailed, but it had pulled in the gangplank and was tooting the horn. If I wanted a man (and biological children) in my life, I was going to have to do something about it, and SOON.

At the time, I was living with a roommate who was a little older and had done a significant amount of online dating, so with her encouragement, I decided to join match.com. I made a deal with myself: no matter how it went, I committed myself to a year of really working at the "dating game." I approached it like searching for a job: I spent time doing my homework by looking to see what (who) was out there, I continually tweaked my own resume (profile) to make sure it reflected who I really was, I thought seriously about what I was looking for, and after every date, I updated things to improve my chances. 

I chatted with a lot of guys, and I met a few in person. One of the most important things I learned was that just because someone is nice and you enjoy their company, doesn't mean they're right for you. Another important lesson was that - again, like job searching - you need to be evaluating them and not just trying to get them to choose you. I dated a couple of guys for a few months, and they were lovely but they just weren't quite what I was looking for - and I wasn't quite what they were looking for. 

But then. There was a guy I had noticed who looked very nice, who had a teenage daughter that he obviously adored and who was involved with community theatre. But before I had a chance to connect with him, someone else asked me out and I ended up dating him for a few months. So when that guy broke it off with me, I looked back at theatre guy and decided he was worth checking out. 

We spent a few weeks exchanging emails and decided we'd like to meet in person. Before we did, we agreed to exchange our real names, not just our cute profile names (mine was "Oolie," his was "Hphil"). We didn't admit it to each other at the time, but that exchange nearly ended things right there. His real name was Herb. Herb?! Total nerd name. My real name was Sandy. Sandy?! Same as his mom - AND his ex-wife. But we both decided we could get past it, so we planned our first date. 

We did have one quick phone call before we met in person. He called me from his car while he was bringing one of his cats to the vet, so I got to enjoy his deep baritone voice accompanied by offended caterwauling from the back seat. There were a lot of giggles during that call, a few of them due to the cat, but mostly because we were both delighted that we enjoyed each other as much on the phone as in emails. So we scheduled a casual date. 

Now, I'm not dumb, and I know that meeting with a strange man can lead to trouble, so I planned ahead. First of all, I channeled my inner Sherlock Holmes and deduced that between his mention of the city of Waltham and the term "regional theatre" as opposed to "community theatre," he must have worked with the (then) Reagle Players. I immediately emailed a couple of friends who I knew had done shows with Reagle, saying something like, "I've been talking to this guy, he seems really nice, but I'd love it if someone could confirm that he's not secretly a psychopath." One of my friends immediately got back to me with a glowing review: "I've been to a cast party at his house, it's lovely, HE's lovely, I've met his mom and his niece and nephew and sister and they're ALL lovely. You should totally go out with him." (To this day she takes credit for bringing us together, and it is well deserved.)

But beyond that, I had an escape plan for the actual date. Any time I met a new guy, I always told my roommate exactly where and when I was going, and we sometimes planned a mid-date phone call so I could have an out if necessary. In this case, we had agreed to meet for a drink in the afternoon, before I was due to crew a performance of a show called Dearly Beloved at a nearby theater. She would call a little while into the date, and if I needed to bail, I would simply say, "Oh, there's a disaster at the theater and they need my help NOW? Sorry, gotta run!" and then I could get outta Dodge with minimal questions. 

So I pulled into the parking lot of Joe's American Bar and Grill in Woburn and sunk down in my seat, stealthily scoping out the other cars to see if he was there yet. Pretty soon, a classy green Mercedes sedan pulled into the lot and a cute blonde wearing a polo shirt and khakis, with a pair of sunglasses perched jauntily on his forehead, strolled confidently inside. Always a good sign when a) he drives a decent - or at least clean and well-maintained - car, and b) he looks like his profile pictures. So I waited a few minutes and then followed him inside, where he was sitting at the bar, having just ordered a cocktail. (I had no idea at the time that his standard "Tanqueray martini, very dry, up with a twist, shaken hard" would become such an integral part of my life.) He immediately stood up and greeted me with a handshake that turned into a quick hug. I was not a big drinker at the time, having grown up in a teetotaling household, but I knew to order my favorite: a Cosmopolitan. What I didn't know was how to answer when the bartender asked what kind of vodka I wanted. No one had ever asked me that before! I'd never even heard the term "house vodka," and I didn't buy vodka by the bottle so I had no idea what brands were obnoxiously pricy or embarrassingly cheap. The bartender seemed to recognize my deer-in-the-headlights expression and began listing off brands: Grey Goose, Absolut, Skyy, Stoli - Stoli! I recognized that one, and hoping it was reasonably middle-of-the-road, opted for that, hoping Herb hadn't noticed my discomfort. (Spoiler alert: He had, and would revel in telling that story to everyone we met for the next 18 years.) 

Fortunately, once we got over that initial hiccup, the date went swimmingly. In addition to our shared love of musical theatre, we discovered we were both French horn players, and even that I played in a group with - and was friends with - his cousin, and that he had been to a number of concerts that I had performed in. We also discovered that we had a number of friends in common, and were amazed that we'd never met before, although we determined that we must have been in the same room on multiple occasions. When my "escape phone call" came through, I blurted something like, "Yeah, everything's good? They don't need me early? Great, see you later," and hung up to continue hanging on his every word. 

When at last it came time that I really did need to leave for the theater, he asked hopefully, "Are there still tickets available? Can I come see the show?" I was thrilled to share that there were, so he followed me to the theater. In the lobby, he went to the ticket window and I opened my mouth to explain that I needed to help set the stage, and that I couldn't come out during intermission because there was a major set change, and that I needed to help strike for a while after the curtain fell, but before I could say a word, he told me, "I know you have stuff to do. I'll wait for you after the show - but take your time. I know the crew has a lot to do." I floated into the green room thinking, "He gets it!" I remember leaning back against the door as a few friends crowded around, asking how it was. I smiled and said, "I like him. I REALLY like him!" and then we all squealed like Beatles fans. 

After the show, the cast and crew planned to go out to a local Chili's, so of course I invited him, not sure if he'd accept. He looked at me and said simply, "It's Saturday night, I just went to see a show, of COURSE I want to go out with the cast!" He and I ended up splitting the corner of a large table, with my roommate on one side of him and her boyfriend (also a dear friend of mine) on the other side of me. They both fired a series of questions at him, determining whether they thought he was worthy of dating me or not. He took it all in good humor, his eyes frequently twinkling at me as he answered their probing questions, directing many of the answers more at me than at them. I was, in a word, smitten. We parted that night with another hug and a promise to get together again soon. 

And soon meant soon. He called me the next day, asking me out on a "real date," this time for dinner at the "Gourmet Room" of a nearby restaurant. I was impressed by how swanky it was (little did I know that this would turn out to be the lower tier of swankiness of our future restaurant adventures). We spent the evening making up stories about the other diners we could see - a group of lawyers vying for partnership positions, a dysfunctional family reunion, a bunch of tipsy college alumni - and introducing me to good wine and how to enjoy it. We had our first kiss in the parking lot, and I knew this was going to be a good one. 

To be continued...