The Lawyer

First off, an announcement. Remember when The Blogger Formerly Known As Nabbalicious guest-posted about being on Wait, Wait... Don't Tell Me? She's on the show this weekend! Consult the listings for your local NPR affiliate to find out when you should tune in. (If you're in the Twin Cities, it's 2:00 tomorrow, but if you're elsewhere--or reading this on Monday--that won't help. Podcast to the rescue, perhaps?)

Now on to today's date story. (Note: Are you new here? I'm doing this "30 Dates in 30 Days" theme for NaBlo. It's already depressing me just a bit.)

I was wondering recently if I have gone on so many dates with strangers from the Internet that I wouldn't even remember all of their names or assorted details. I suspect I likely would forget at least a few, because pre-Internet dating, I probably went out with fewer than ten men, and I don't even remember all of them. Case in point? The Lawyer.

I think I've actually written about The Lawyer before, but I believe I did so only as a passing point in a longer post, and it was likely at least two years ago, so if this story sounds familiar to you, just congratulate yourself on your stellar memory and humor me, all right?

I don't remember where I met The Lawyer, nor do I remember The Lawyer's name. All I remember is having one phone conversation with The Lawyer and one almost-date. I know that the phone conversation was in my bedroom in the apartment I shared with my high school friend Cary on Lexington Avenue. I remember we talked about REM and other musical interests, but I remember little else about it. I also don't know why he didn't just ask me out on a proper date, nor why I didn't suggest one myself. I mean, the boy had met me somewhere and acquired my number. Wouldn't asking me out be the reasonable thing to do when he called? Then again, I would never imply that dating is always reasonable, so perhaps none of this is any big surprise.

Somewhere in the course of the conversation in which he didn't ask me out, I suggested that perhaps The Lawyer could join me for a happy hour I was attending later that week. The problem was, there actually was no happy hour in the works. I probably implied that a group of people from my office was going. In reality, after that phone call, I rallied one friend from my office and the aforementioned roommate, and the three of us were the only ones at Chevy's Fresh Mex on Hamline when he arrived.

In my mind, I probably thought, "Group outing! No pressure! He can just casually come and go as he likes!" In reality, the fact that it was just me and two girlfriends made it look like I had brought two screeners, like he was interviewing with my advisory board and any future he had with me hinged upon the results.

What made it even worse was that my work friend overtly flirted with The Lawyer nearly the entire time he sat at the table with us. My roommate asked small-talky questions; my work friend made flattering comments and found several opportunities to casually touch his forearm.

The poor guy understandably looked like a deer in headlights for most of the conversation, and about 45 minutes into his time there, he left to take a call on his cell phone and excused himself immediately thereafter.

I wasn't the seasoned dater then that I am now, so at the time, it baffled me. "Do you think he'll call me again?" "Why did he leave so abruptly?" "That was weird, right? Don't you think that was weird?"

Dear Stef-at-25: Yes, that WAS weird. And it was entirely your fault. I would like to tell you it gets easier, but the truth is this is just the start of your series of strange, uncomfortable dates. On the up side, from here on out, usually men do do the asking, and you'll be avoiding them post-first-date at least as often as they avoid you. Enjoy!