Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,
I assume most of you are seated when you read blog posts, but if for some strange reason you are standing, then please sit down. I have some news, and I don't want one of you fainting, falling, hitting your head on the bookcase, needing ten stitches, and then suing me.
All right. Here's the news: I have a date tomorrow.
Stay calm. Stay very calm . . . because I'm not.
I haven't been on a date in more than 33 years. The last time I had a date, we went disco dancing.
I am going to meet my date at a restaurant, where I assume we will dine. But I wonder how dating has changed.
Will we bring our cell phones and text each other to have a conversation rather than actually talking? If he wants to tell me something really important, will he step outside and call me on his cell phone while I stay at the table?
What if I have gas?
What if he tries to get me to eat a pickle? I can't tell him on the first date that blow jobs are okay, but pickles are out.
I know you're supposed to get Movie Movie Weekend today, and I actually saw two excellent movies this week (movies I think you'll like, Dee); but you're simply going to have to wait till next week for movies.
I am too busy reading, editing, writing, and worrying to tell you about something as trivial as excellent and unusual movies. Oi!
I have not met this man in person. We have emailed each other and talked on the telephone. He knows the difference between your and you're and it's and its (oh, thank you, Jesus).
I promise I will not bring him home with me on the first date. Or if I do bring him home, it will be if he offers to wash my windows and clean my house.
Pardon me now. I am the one who is going to faint, and it's not from surprise. It's because I'm so nervous and because I need to start NOW to get my hair to cooperate.
Infinities of love,