Post-First-Date Ideation: The Enemy Within
All it takes is one positive dating experience for all my world to come crashing in, it seems. Or at least, from one second to another it seems as though it's safe to plan for the little cottage we'll have together in our retirement (with BLUE shutters-- a nice perwinkle or China blue would be nice) and then it seems as though it's safe to plan to never go on another date again in my life, let alone with this person. I sure do like my cat-- nice and predictable.
So, my one-month experimentation with the world of Salon.com personals has yielded, in the 11th hour, one positive first-date experience. And suddenly I understand why the more jaded gay boys refer to such an event as "meeting my future ex-husband."
How fast and how far the imagination goes with so very little information to fuel it! The less the information the more far-fetched the ideation.
In my head I go from nun to sexpot to lonesome cowgirl to stalker... No third middle-way seems available when all you have is a first and last name, a phone number and an e-mail. It's all or nothing, and it all rides on Date Number Two, when I'm sure we find out we are not only completely incompatible, but that we loathe eachother.
Or we pick up the real estate section and start shopping.
Sigh. Thirty-something and single and dating again after a long dry spell. The stuff country music songs are made of.
WAIT! This is a CRUSH! I almost forgot what those were. Hence that "world comes crashing in" sensation.
No wonder Meryn Cadell's famous Sweater Song from Angel Food for Thought has been playing in my head all day.
It's a girl not a boy who has got me crushy, and I haven't acquired any souvenirs to fetishize yet, but otherwise it's JUST LIKE THIS:
The Sweater Song (...in streaming audio).
If you want to download it, I can't link to Angelfire, but you can paste this into your browser to get the mp3 (3.1 MB):
http://www.angelfire.com/un/queereasteurope/MerynCadell_TheSweaterSong.mp3
Read along with the lyrics if you like:
Girls,
I know you will understand this
and feel the intrinsic incredible emotion.
You have just pulled over your head the worn,
warm sweater belonging to a boy.
Now, you haven't had a passionate kissing session or anything,
but you got to go on a camping trip with him
and eight other people from school.
And you practically slept together,
your sleeping bag right next to his
And you woke in the night to watch him as he slept
but you couldn't see anything 'cause it was dark
so you just laid there and listened to his breathing
and wondered if your heart might burst.
The sweater has that faintly goat-like smell
which all teenage boys possess,
and that smell will lovingly transfer
to all your other clothes.
If you get to keep it for a few days you can sleep with it
but don't let your mom see, 'cause she'll say,
"what is that filthy thing, and who does it belong to
besides the trash man?"
So you have to keep it under the covers with you.
You can kind of lie it beside you,
or wrap it around your waist,
or touch it on your legs, or whatever--
That's your business.
Now if the sweater has, like, reindeer on it
or is a funny color like yellow... I'm sorry,
you can't get away with a sweater like that.
Look for brown, or grey, or blue
Anything other than that, and you know you're dealing with
someone who's different,
And different is not what you're looking for.
You're looking for those teenage alpine ski chiselled features,
and that sort of blank look which passes for deep thought--
or at least the notion that someone's home.
You're looking for the boy of your dreams
who is the same boy in the dreams
of all of your friends.
Now the sweater isn't going fit you of course,
so you have to kind roll up the sleeves in a jaunty way that says,
'This is the sweater belonging to a boy,
and the boy is a genuine hunka hunka burning love',
and this is not just some hand-me-down
from your brother or your father.
Monday, wear the sweater
to school.
Be calm, look cute.
Don't tell him about the dream you had
about the place the two of you would share
when you get older.
Just be yourself.
The best, cutest, quietest version of yourself.
Definitely wear lip gloss.
He looks at you, and then he looks away,
And then he walks away,
and the smell of the sweater hits you again suddenly
like ape-scent gloriola,
and you get a note passed to you
by a girl in History that says
"He needs that sweater back.
He forgot you put it on in the tent on Saturday
and he's been looking for it."
And you don't have to die of humiliation, you know,
You are a strong person
and this is a learning experience.
You can still hold your head up high as you run from the classroom
tearing the stinking sweater from your body.
You look at that sweater, carefully,
and realize that love made you temporarily blind.
You've got a secret now, honey,
and though you would never sink as low as him,
you could blab it all over the school if you wanted:
The label in that sweater
says:
"100%
Acrylic."
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