Our first date was shopping for plain, white dishes at Target.  I’ve been to the movies for a first date.  I’ve gone dancing at a funky old bar.  I’ve shot some pretty bad pool and have gone on more coffee dates than I can count.  But I’ve never gone dish shopping on a first date before him.  I’d even given him hell about the dishes.  “Come on!  Get the polka dots!  The stripes!  The green plates and purple plates combined!”  But he liked white, how starkingly exposed they were.  So white was what he got. 

And months later, the white plate man was knocking on my door, ready to sit down for dinner with my kids and me in a starkingly exposed setting of just the four of us.  They had all met before at a social gathering.  But this was different.  There were no distractions, there was just us. 

He had brought sparkling apple cider as a peace offering, and my kids accepted it enthusiastically.  I let them sip the bubbly juice out of wine glasses I brought down off the top shelf.  Dinner was a new recipe that had been simmering in the crockpot, something that the kids ate with gusto and that he picked at politely.  The conversations went easy enough over the meal, questions about his teenage son from them and inquiries about school and friends from him.  They naturally brought up their father, testing the waters to see how he would take it.  And he nodded and smiled, and let them place borders to where he could tread, and where he should hold back. 

My son wanted to show him some video games, and he accepted the challenge of a short match.  And I watched the two of them, trying not to see into the future, but happy with the ease in the way things were going.  We settled onto the couch to watch, “Horton Hears a Who,” all of us entertained by the perils of a small universe in the care of a clumsy, gentle elephant.  And we munched on bowls of popcorn, the second gift he brought, and a sure winner with the kids. 

Bedtime came, and I instructed the kids to say goodnight to him before I led them upstairs.  The night had gone well, the kids seemed to like him.  Both kids were acting silly, and I ushered them upstairs with laughs and giggles.  My son broke away from me and ran back to him. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” my son asked him.  My heart warmed at my son opening up to him.  I paused on the stairs to listen in. 

“Sure,” my fellow said.  “What’s up?” 

“You’re an idiot,” my son giggled. 

…. 

….. 

…… 

The whole night unfolded into my lap and broke into a million pieces.   I wanted to fall through the floor.  How should I handle this and stay cool?  What was my fellow thinking?  

WHAT WAS MY SON THINKING?!?  

Thank goodness his own son had once been an 8 year old goofy boy, and he knew the way they tried to be funny.  We even laughed about it after the kids went to bed.  But in that moment, I wanted to just die.  And ironically, having done the single mom thing for 5 years, I knew that it could have been worse…… 

Has dating as a single mom left you with more stories than men?

Be Sociable, Share!

•