first dates. we all want it to be perfect – right dress, great make up, cosy place, gq cover looking date. it’s going really well, you just can’t stop staring at his beautiful eyes and piano keys choppers. with matching deep throated voice that sends chills down your spine especially that he is the only one who seems to say your name the way you want it. he also looks at you deeply and doesnt seem to notice the other women batting their damn those are loonggg lashes at him.
not bad for a first date, huh? then, just as soon as you’re sure he’s gonna call again for a second date, a horrible sound disturbs the whole ambiance. a sound that could never be mistaken for anything else, especially if it is accompanied by a smell that could uproot someone’s nose hairs. a teeny tiny whistling kettle that seemed to marry a french horn.
he laughs and and he laughs. and you are beet red and choking on your own embarrassment. hoping the restaurant is on a sinkhole and it decides to open right at that moment.
he has tears in his eyes. yours just refuse to focus as they are still under the influence of your very unsympathetic nervous system. fight or flight? you’re in between. that spaz of air that let go without permission seemed to come with crazy glue gluing your butt to the chair.
the night finally ends and he takes you home. a polite kiss as he still giggles. and you definitely know he is never gonna call again.
but guess what, a number of dates still follow, and 8 children after, this man still worships the ground that you walk on.
true love. this.