Learning to Date Again

One of the reasons I liked being married was that I didn't have to deal with the anxieties of dating. When I became single again, I didn't date for a while. After putting years of blood, sweat, and tears into a relationship and having it fall apart, dating again seemed pointless.

No, not pointless.

Dangerous.

The wounds hadn't yet fully healed, and if they were ripped open again by someone new, I might not be able to recover this time. But as risky as dating seemed, I hated being alone. I hated being alone on a Friday night. Or a Saturday night. Or any night.

It had been over eight years since I'd asked a girl out. The last time I asked a girl out, the world was a different place. Texting didn't really exist back then. Neither did smartphones. Back then, I had a cell phone and a PDA, which I had to remember to sync to my computer. America Online was still huge and most people had dial-up internet connections. Remember life before Facebook? It was a primitive age. Had dating changed? I didn't know.

It's hard to know when you're ready to date again. My rule of thumb for determining whether you're ready to date again is this: if you're looking at lightbulbs at Costco and you start talking to the Hell's Angel biker next to you about your divorce, you're not ready to date. If you start talking to the Hell's Angel biker next to you about your divorce hoping that he'll give you a hug and tell you that everything will be all right and that there's a sweet girl out there just waiting for you to find her, you're really really not ready to start dating again.

When I decided to start dating again, the wounds hadn't yet healed. Maybe they never do. But I got to the point where I was ready to put the past in the . . . well, in the past. In other words, I spotted a hot girl I wanted to ask out. I was at her place of employment (which I won't disclose to protect her identity), making small talk with her, wanting to ask her out, but not knowing how to ask her out. My heart raced. I opened my mouth to ask her out. The words that came out were "Have a nice day."

And I quickly fled Victoria's Secret.

I had forgotten how to ask girls out. How did I do it before I got married? Hadn't I been a ladies' man back in the day? Those of you who know me will undoubtedly say, "Yes, you were the quintessential ladies' man back in the day." Who am I kidding? Nobody will say that. You may find it shocking (but probably not...oh, how the truth hurts) that I never really knew how to ask girls out. Not now, and not back then, either. Back then, my heart would race. Back then, my palms would sweat. Nothing had changed.

I didn't want to face another Friday night alone so I had to try again. I went back to her work. I looked around, trying to find her. Someone asked if they could help me. "No, thank you, I'm just browsing," I replied. That wasn't completely true, because I wasn't there to shop. I scanned the store, looking for her, hoping she was there.

And then I saw her. My heart raced. My palms were sweaty. It was nerve-wracking. I was certain that she'd laugh at me or roll her eyes in disgust or find some way to utterly reject me. But on that fateful day, standing there, looking at her, my heart rate hovering around 240, I asked her out and she said yes.

Despite my nervousness, I played it cool. We made tentative plans. I told her I'd call her. I turned to leave, still trying to play it cool, but wanting to escape before my cool exterior cracked revealing to the world the emotional wreck that I was. As I walked away, she called after me, saying, "Um, don't you want my number?" Oh yeah. That might help.

We went out to eat. Eating is difficult for me on a first date because I don't want to look like a slob. You know those people who get food on their face and they just don't notice it? I never know what to say. Maybe not knowing they have food on their face is their proper punishment for being so oblivious to their slobbery and for never using a napkin. I find it amazing that someone can get through a whole meal and not notice that they have a smear of cheese on their face. But what if that happened to me?

Luckily, the eating part went okay. I took small bites and tried to time my bites for when she wasn't looking, just in case I forgot to close my mouth and the food fell out. I also used my napkin a lot. We talked about something, but I was a little bit distracted by the fact that I'd forgotten her name.

Somehow, though, I survived the date. Since then, I've also survived being rejected. When that happens, I try to remember what the Hell's Angel biker at Costco told me: "Now, now, hush your crying. There's someone special out there just waiting for you."

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