Flourish in Progress

I lost my shoes on a date once. It was one of the last dates I ever went on before I got married, and it was one of the worst. But, if I stepped back and really looked at it, I might see that it wasn’t so bad because even if I lost my shoes, I got lunch and a huge scab on my shin. I’m all about the freebies, y’all. 

I met Kenny at church. We sat next to each other one Sunday and exchanged a few words.

Kenny: This bench is hard.

Me: Fuck yeah.

Kenny: Did you just say the “F” word inside a church?

Me: I meant “Hell yeah.” I try to be more ladylike on Sundays.

He giggled like a schoolgirl. That should have been the first sign of trouble, but I was extremely flattered that he found me funny, and really, isn’t that the first step toward a successful relationship- when I think I’m awesome and you think I’m awesome, too?

While the offering basket was being passed around, he leaned over and asked if I would like to have lunch after church. And maybe after lunch, he said, we should go and have dessert, because a sweet lady deserves sweet treats.

That shit works apparently. On me, at least.

After a delicious salad bar buffet with a free ice cream cone ending, Kenny asked if I’d like to see his betta fish. Sure, I said, why not. I liked that this 32-year-old man enjoyed animals.

At his suburban ranch-style house, I noticed women’s shoes by the front door and a hair clip on the kitchen counter. Noticing where my gaze landed, Kenny quickly said he had a female roommate. No biggie.

He motioned toward his bedroom. Betta fish, he promised.

And betta fish he delivered. After an in-depth twenty minute recital of betta fish facts, he showed me around his room. Somewhere in between high school math league medals and tennis championship trophies, I kicked off my shoes. This tour was going to take a while.

Kenny leaned in for a kiss at the end of his tour. His reward, I’m sure, for entertaining me so thoroughly.

Before he got to my lips, he froze and whispered, “Oh shit, my roommate is home.” And then he blurted out the truth. His “roommate” was his mom. And this was her house. And Kenny was supposed to ask before he brought company over.

Kenny wanted me to leave…immediately. Eager to help the sad son of a bitch out, I grabbed my purse and started for the door. He blocked my path and begged me to use the window instead. Too stunned to voice any objections, I found myself with one leg out the window just a short minute later.

Just as I was throwing my other leg over the window ledge, Kenny’s mom walked into his room. Her sudden appearance rocked my balance and I fell, front first, into the bush below, scraping my shins and muddying my legs.

I  ran into a neighbor’s backyard and stood in hiding. A few minutes later, I heard Kenny calling my name. When he finally found me, he motioned me over. His mother wanted to meet me.

She took one look at my scraped shins and muddy legs and went inside the house without saying a word. Kenny offered to take me back to my car. Too embarrassed to ask for my shoes, I got inside his car.

On the drive back to church, he asked to see me again the following Friday. I told him I probably wouldn’t be able to see him again. He asked why.

“Oh, I think we both know why.”

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Your worst date ever?
image via lettercult.com

Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Do, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help, and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made beforeThe Projectstarted, and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”

This week: Take more pictures. 

Growing up, I was camera-shy. Because, well, I was hideous. Wait, don’t let me get away with such a gross exaggeration. I wasn’t hideous, just stupendously homely with a dash of awkward.

Blessed with an extreme overbite, I needed braces at an early age…the kind that required headgear.

The headgear wasn’t so bad. It corralled the mop of frizzy hair that expanded in volume by at least 40% on humid days.

And because of my poor eyesight, which started failing at the age of five, I needed thick, clunky glasses. It’s a shame I usually sat or stepped on the glasses soon after getting a new pair, because for the rest of the time I owned that pair, it usually had one (or two) carefully taped legs. Sometimes, the tape would be fairly invisible Scotch brand Magic tape. Other times, it was just standard yellow masking tape.

My parents weren’t willing to shell out for prescription sunglasses, and I couldn’t find a pair of clip-ons that fit well. So, on sunny days, I would slide a pair of non-prescription sunglasses over my everyday glasses and just wear both at the same time.

Add to that my impeccable sense of style. I shunned denim or khaki pants in favor of floral-print, body-hugging bike shorts. I had dozens. Each day, I matched my bike shorts to an assortment of fanny packs. For somber occasions, I preferred the striped pastel fanny pack. On casual days, I whipped out my electric green fanny pack. The electric green fanny pack had a small pair of fuzzy dice hanging from the strap. I grabbed it out of an arcade claw game, and I was proud of it.

Once, on a family vacation, my parents convinced me to stand with my brother for a picture in front of the White House.  My dad wanted a serious picture. He wanted us kids to be straight-faced and close-lipped. Unfortunately, my buck teeth kept my lips from closing all the way.

Dad: I told you to close your mouth!

Me: I can’t help it!

Dad: Yes, you can! Stop being so difficult!

Me: It’s my teeth. They’re too fat! I can’t close my mouth.

I guess it’s not really a family vacation until a kid starts crying.
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I’m bringing my camera along with me everywhere I go this week. This makes me nervous. If you have any hints, tips, or ideas for a beginner like me, please share.
image via blueq.com