Princess MoMo

Click here for Mr. Rx Part I

Click here for Mr. Rx Part II

Last we left off, I mentioned that both the coworker who was setting me up with Mr. Rx and I told Mr. Rx not to be late for the first date.  He was supposed to arrive at 6:15 to pick me up from work.  I texted him at 6:11 and stated, “Are you on schedule or running [Mr. Rx] time?”  He responded ,”Lol be there at 620″  But alas, 6:20 came and went and no Mr. Rx.  Then came the “I’m lost” phone call.  He asked me for landmarks around my place of employment.  I told him there were mostly just trees.  I finally described to him how to get there and in the meantime, I walked from my buildings parking lot to the entrance where cars drive into the office complex.  It’s not a short walk and I was wearing medium to high length heels.  Ultimately, he picked me up on the corner of where the street and the entrance meet at approximately 6:45.  It seemed very hooker-esque.

Now, I’d like to interrupt the sequence of the story to discuss the heels I was wearing.  First and foremost, and needless to say, they are awesome.  But, that’s besides the point.  When my coworker told me he was setting me up with his friend, the first thing I asked was, “How tall is he?”  The coworker said his friend is the same height as he is.  I asked and confirmed and reconfirmed because the coworker is 5’10” which is my absolute cut-off height.  Any shorter and I am dissatisfied.  He assured me that the friend was his height.  The day of the first date, I asked the coworker to come into my office and I stood next to him to make sure I wasn’t taller than he is.  I once more asked, “Are you sure he’s not shorter than you are?”  And the coworker assured me he wasn’t.

Fast forward back to the Pretty Woman corner pick up:  I entered the vehicle and was pleased to see that this specimen was very cute.   I told him I was going to report his lateness to my coworker, which I did instantaneously via text.   We made some small talk about whatever (it was really whatever because I haven’t the faintest recollection what we spoke about).

Once we arrived in Princeton, we spotted a parking space and he pulled into it.  Near the spot, there was construction being done on the sidewalk; we had to walk on the street.  He let me walk on the street side.  (Dating/life advice to men: You should never let a female walk on the street side.  Instead, you shift places with her to make sure she is further away from the moving cars than you.  Why is this important? Well, for one, it’s sign of chivalrousness.  Chicks dig chivalry.   Second, women are wired to want men who “protect” them.  The small act of ensuring that she is out of harm’s way is a way of demonstrating your manly protectionist ways.)  [BREAKING NEWS: As I was sitting here writing this, I texted Mr. Rx that I am writing about date one.  He responded, “Lol perhaps they will warm up to me then.  Just don’t tell them how I let you walk in the street.”  I replied, “haha I just wrote the street part! Literally just one minute ago.”]  Oh, and I should note that as soon as we stepped out of the car and I was side by side with him I noticed that I was taller than he is! At that instant, I wanted to smite my damn coworker.  I had to suck it up though and at least he is super cute.

We arrived at the restaurant and he told the hostess the name under which the reservation was made.  She said there was no reservation under that name.  He asked her to check again.  She still couldn’t find it.  I scoped out the scene in this restaurant and there was one occupied table in the whole entire place.  I stood there thinking to myself, “Why the fuck are we going through this exercise when you know damn well there’s no one in this joint and it’s 7 p.m.?”  Finally, she said something to the effect of, “Okay, I think we can accommodate you.”   How gracious of her to offer to seat us at one of the 2034820938024394023 empty tables.

Of course, we were seated directly next to the one other occupied table in the restaurant.  There were two older women next to us.  They spoke loudly about crap that I couldn’t care less to hear about.  I asked Mr. Rx to request that the hostess re-seat us.  Despite the seating limitations (because remember, only 2034820938024394023 were empty), the hostess was once again ever so gracious in accommodating us.

Once we were reseated, I couldn’t wait to tap into the wine that Mr. Rx had been wise enough to bring.  As soon as the waiter came by, I asked him to open the bottle.  Once I tasted this wine, Mr. Rx’s lateness was forgiven.  His vertical deficiency could not be that easily overcome though.  As we reviewed the menu, conversation flowed easily.  I (modestly) attribute that to my own skills.  My third grade teacher (God rest her morbidly obese soul) told my mother back in 1994ish that I have the “gift of gab.”  Before we had settled on cuisine selections, the overly fake happy waiter came to us and recited the specials.  Whenever a waiter recites the specials, I’m always extremely tempted to say, “I’d like to see that in writing. ”  And, most times, I really would like to see it in writing.  I resisted the urge.  I opted to feast on the filet mignon and Mr. Rx chose some duck/chicken combo dish.  (See pictures below.)

The food was very good, as was the conversation throughout dinner.  The best part was that we were sitting down so I didn’t have to be reminded of the height predicament.  When we had finished our food, we sat around chatting for a bit longer.  Finally, when the restaurant had cleared out (let me mention that the older women had left and other table had joined during the course of our stay there), I suggested that we leave because it was obvious that the staff wanted to go home.  I offered to split the bill with him, but, as he should, he declined.  We walked out of the restaurant.  On the way to his car, I spotted a bench.  We sat on it and continued conversing for some time.  Finally, we made our way back to his vehicle.  On the windshield of said vehicle, he spotted a ticket.  Oh, and let’s rewind back to my rant about not letting a woman walk on the street side: he did it again!  Anyway, he picked up the ticket and astoundedly said  something like, “WTF?”  Well, as it turns out, Mr. Rx had parked at a meter, which I saw.  But, he didn’t put any money in the meter.  I assumed he knew the meter times and, based on such knowledge, didn’t feed the meter.  Wrong.  He just didn’t see the meter.   Ignorantia juris non excusat. (Look it up.)

He dropped me back off at my work parking lot.  He parked one parking space away from the MoMo-mobile.  Interior car farewells are awkward.  There was the whole center console in between us.  I looked at him and said (verbatim), “This is awkward. ”  He agreed.  I considered hugging him and we awkwardly considered how to interact with one another at this stage.  I broke the tension and said I was just going to get out of the car.  No hug. No kiss. No high five.  He said he would walk me to my car.  I reminded him that we were one parking spot apart and stepped out.  I told him that I would call him in a few minutes because I like phone chatting while driving.

We each pulled out of the parking lot and I dial pad-ded him.  I told him (paraphrased), “I like to do a date briefing at the conclusion of first dates.  So, tell me what you thought.”  He said that he thought I was easy to talk to and that I “looked very nice.”  I told him that I had fun, but that the height thing may be a deal breaker.

TO BE CONTINUED…