Daughter Emma (10 years old) and I were discussing “firsts.” She was disturbed because a very flat-chested friend of hers started wearing a bra. This led to her asking me all kinds of questions:
- When was the first time you wore a bra? I still don’t. Ha! Actually probably when I was 16.
- When did you get your period? 16. I know, I was LATE before I was even pregnant.
- When did you start liking boys? Okay, REALLY liking, as in raging hormones, was age 13.
- When did you first ride in a limo? (because kids these days think that this is a rite of passage they get to do when they’re like five years old): I think it was my wedding day, you spoiled kid.
I didn’t bore her with my virginity story, the first time I got drunk or the first time I crapped the delivery table while having a baby. She didn’t ask or I would have been all over it.
This got me to thinking about “first date” stories and there is one in particular my dad will NEVER let me forget. In fact, I think he probably went out and murdered the guy afterwards, but never told me.
Setting: Columbia, Maryland.
Age: 20
Circumstance: I was home from JMU (college) for the summer. I worked at the disgusting, greasy, all you can eat Chesapeake Bay Seafood House as a waitress. Worst job on the planet, maybe even worse than “The Sev.” Big, obese people eating platters of fried shrimp and scallops. They’d make the universal “'another round” gesture by circling their pointer finger in the air as if to say, “Hey skinny ass waitress! Get us some more of ‘em greasy pieces of fish. I just took a dump and made some more room!”
Okay, yeah, so this does look kind of good, but 12 plates of this? Gross.
When you work in the restaurant business people party their heads off. Everyone is always drinking before, during and after their shifts. People are hooking up right and left. Tip money is spent on shots done at the bar after work. I wasn’t too extreme with my partying and hooking up. I liked to be social but I just wasn’t that into the whole get wasted thing.
It was about that time I met Mark. He seemed nice enough, but I knew from the get-go he wasn’t my type. He stood very erect (TWSS), like he was in the Army or something. He had a buzz cut (maybe he was in the Army or a serial killer). He was very serious, a tad uptight, almost acted like he had a stick up his ass. I’m not sure what made me say, “yes” when he asked me out. Probably because I was bored and wanted a free meal. We slutty girls are like that.
He picked me up and when my parents asked where we were going, he said, “Just out to dinner at the Inner Harbor in Baltimore.” Liar.
We got into the car and he asked if I wanting to go flying. He said he had just gotten his pilot’s license and was trying to get in some more flying hours. Sure, why not? We drove to local airfield and hopped into a two-seater plane. It was getting dark so Mark put a flashlight in his mouth and went through the checklist. It never occurred to me to be scared, which is funny because these days I HATE to fly even when it’s Sully Sullenberger or some pilot that has 117 million flight hours.
Not the actual plane, but you get the picture
We took off and he told me we were flying to Ocean City for dinner. That was about 200 miles away. I shrugged, “Okay.” We flew for a while and landed near a restaurant on the bay where we had a nice dinner. I remember being totally NOT attracted to this person and thinking, “After tonight I’m done.” It never occurred tome to pay attention to the time.
We got back in the plane and headed for home. Trouble was, the gas gauge was LOW and we didn’t have enough fuel to make it back. At about midnight we ended up on some bum-fuck landing strip in the middle of nowhere. We woke up someone by banging on their door and got some more fuel. We flew back to Columba, but by the time I walked in the door to my parent’s house it was 3:00 a.m.
I figured I was a big girl now – in college and all – and I stayed out that late in college all the time. I really didn’t expect my parents to freak, but in hindsight, why wouldn’t they? I was out with some dude they didn’t know, long past when I said I’d be home. This was the age before cell phones and it never occurred to me to call them. That’s how considerate I was.
They laid the hell into me. They were about five seconds from calling the police. I was given the “All you care about is yourself” lecture, which was probably true at that time of my life.
As for Mark? Well, I don’t think he even got a good night kiss after flying me to the beach and buying me dinner. I did let him impregnate me though. Just kidding.
What’s your worst/most interesting first date story?
SUAR
