Date 1.5 with Mr. Rogers; Or, Last Minute Dates Are a Bad Idea
I wore: light blue Banana Republic T-shirt, Abercrombie and Fitch “military chino” pants, OPI Apricotcha Cheatin’ toe polish, pearl earrings, Herve Leger perfume, NARS Dolce Vita lipstick. Overall sluttiness factor=-2, not even close to slutty, *at least in my clothing*. He wore: Some kind of ironic hip t-shirt (this is apparently his “thing” along with everyone else in 323), jeans, campers, omega watch.
Circumstances: This could not be any worse if I had planned it myself. I was at home on a Saturday evening, watching Under the Tuscan Sun (not joking), by myself, painting my toenails and tweezing eyebrows. I had plans to deep-condition my hair and crackboard, and had just eaten a filet mignon steak from Costco. My life is glamourous: as you can see, all the things you have heard about Hollywood are correct.
Mr. Rogers called on my home phone but I don’t have caller ID and I was sick of taking messages for my roommate, so I didn’t answer. Then he called on my cell phone, which doesn’t work at my house. So I called him back after retrieving the message. Mr. Rogers was supposed to leave for the airport at 7:45 last night, and it was 5:20. We had had a long “tawk” the night before and the plans were to go on the D2 when he got back from his business trip.
Mr. Rogers wanted to see me before leaving on his trip. That’s right, Mr. Rogers wanted a last-second, hang-out date on a Saturday night without time for dinner or anything like that. What’s more, he wanted to do it either at my house or at his house. I was told by my therapist to go out with him regardless of circumstance this weekend given our issues this week.
What could I do?
I did not want him in my house because 1) it is disgusting and 2) I have little furniture, so there would be nowhere to go except my bedroom, which is problematic for obvious reasons. So I said I’d go over to his house. This was also useful for golddigging purposes. I needed to see what kind of golddigging potential there was here.
So anyhoo, I went over there, he was packing. He brought me some water. We made jokes about drinking whiskey. He kept pushing the pillow on the couch down so he could see my face. I kept trying to hide my face using a combination of the couch pillow and my hands. This was ineffective.
We just sat there talking for about an hour. Then he had to go to the airport, so he drove me home. When we got to my house, I pretended like I was going to run out of the car and we chortled about this. He looked at me inquisitvely and I exclaimed, “I don’t know what you want me to do!!” He said, “I want you to hug me and promise to see me this week when I get back,” I said, “OK.” Then he kissed me. Then he said, “Now you are all nervous and embarrassed?” and I said, “Yes. OK, I’m runnning away now.” He said, “OK.” I said, “Have a good trip.” Then I left.