I was invited on a date by this dream boat of a guy who is 6’6, blonde hair, gym goer body, an all around physically gifted man. I was thinking to myself, whoa dude… I have birthed 3 kids and while I may have went to the gym once a few years ago, I don’t have the beach body that would match you. I accepted the invite with the internal thought that I could google how to became a supermodel in 24 hours and everything would be alright.
Cinnamon rolls for breakfast was not on the google results list but it’s what I had and I was hungry. Instead of picking out an outfit for the date, I went junking with my friend Casey and found some treasures to use my new paint sprayer on. I completely axed my Cinderella transformation. I had dirty boots on, dust in my hair, my jeans were soaked from the rain we had ran through, and when I got home I found gravy on my chin. This was not looking promising.
Quickly, I tried to make myself look like I hadn’t just rolled out of the sticks. I tried on seven pairs of pants. The only ones that looked modest, without holes up in the thighs, didn’t cover my frickin ankles! So I had to change my shoes to coordinate. Time was running out and the only pair I came across that could complete the coverage I was looking for were these G.I. Jane boots which made me look like I had just returned from Vietnam. “It’s cool”, I thought… we are going bowling and I’m changing shoes anyways so he will not even notice. Plus he is so tall, I bet he can’t even see other people’s feet.
When I first saw him, I went to give a welcoming hug and stepped on his foot. Like a gentleman, he chose to ignore it but as the awkward person I am, I brought it to his attention, “I just stepped on your foot.” He laughed his supermodel laugh and said yeah you did but it’s okay, and then it happened…. he saw my boots. “Oh nice boots, those are coming back in style.” Ah. I’m accidentally stylist. Nice. 🤦🏻♀️.
I had Marco Polo my friend Kathy up until this point where she was coaching me to be brave and not chicken out. Because up until the moment I stepped out of the car I wanted to go back home, put on jogging pants, curl up under a fluffy blanket, and binge watch Netflix while painting quietly in my living room. She kept saying, “just breathe, take a deep breath in and out”. That girl could coach a Lamaze class. Sometimes we need a good friend to push us outside of our comfort zone. Thank you my friend 😉.
I used to be on a bowling league so I know all about how the bowling shoes run a size bigger. I have big feet for a girl, size 9 to be exact. I told the bowling employee I needed an 8, to which he sets a size 7 on the counter and says, “they run big”. Yeah I’m aware. But I didn’t want to make things more awkward with my feet than they already were so I silently accepted the shoes. I thought to myself there are people in other countries that wear smaller shoes all the time for beauty so you can do this girl.
Next to our lane there were a bunch of young girls, they were all drinking but they looked like children to me. I must be getting old. It was refreshing to actually hear him say the words I was thinking. I’ve dated guys who are still chasing the youngsters and it’s mind boggling to me, seeing as my daughter will be 18 in 4 years. Handsome and he has a good head on his shoulders. I really should’ve put in more effort to make that Cinderella transformation possible. Darn.
Approximately 10 minutes after the bowling game had ended I started questioning if someone had a voodoo doll of me, tormenting my feet. We had retired to a quiet corner for more personal time and mid conversation I noticed I had put my G.I. Jane boots on the wrong dang feet! What the heck. I wonder if he noticed when I excused myself to the bathroom to fix the mishap. If he did notice he didn’t say, or maybe it didn’t bother him. The night ended with me standing on my tiptoes because he is a whole foot taller than me. Oh mercy. This is to be continued as we are going shopping for some junk together, and pray for my feet.