OT: The High Heel Test

Back in high school (or even college, for that matter), going on a date was a big deal. Like, a really big deal. Firstly, one must endure a multitude of confusing, code-like text messages to even obtain said date. Or worse, a pseudo-friend-like relationship that takes half of freshman year to even turn into anything that would result in a date. And then, once you succeed in planning the date, you must get your nails done, various body parts waxed (if you're into that), and buy a new outfit which you end up spending WAY too much money on (hello, credit card debt). More than half the time, the date turns into nothing more than a free meal and two hours of awkward conversation. Other scenarios include on-and-off-again dating, the occasional one night stand, long term relationships (if you are lucky) and maybe even marriage (so I've heard!) -- but these are much less likely.

Flash forward to adult daing. Once you've been in at least one semi-decent relationship, you tend to realize your self worth. You stop thinking that you're not attractive/skinny/funny enough and start realizing that you are, in fact, pretty awesome and anyone who disagrees can go scratch (you never liked them anyway). This results in much less fanfare. You're mother/sister/brother/co-worker/friend/etc says they want to hook you up with so-and-so and so you do a little Facebook stalking and willingly consent to let them set you up. This time around, you still buy a new outfit (which you send to your bestie for approval), but you skip the other nonsense. Heck, you may not even shave your legs groom certain areas to prevent....bad decisions. Grow up you is much more socially responsible.

This leads to my current state of events: my first, post long-term relationship date and why I am a terrible person.

I like to employ a little something called the "high heel test". I am 5' 6" (and 1/2"!!). I wear high heels (almost every day, actually -- thank you accounting career). This makes me between 5' 9" and 5'11". If a guy is not taller than this, he fails the test (apologies to vertically challenged men everywhere -- I am usually not this much of an asshole). My friends laugh at me for this, but it is an unfortunate requirement. And also why I am a terrible person.

Back to my date. I arrive first, five minutes early (because I have a problem called "I am always early"). I also ask to be seated, guessing at the reservation name (because I have a second problem called "I always drink wine while I wait"). Upon my date's arrival, I stand to greet him...and slightly tower over him. He notices this and fails to conceal it on his face. Lovely. And now I am feeling like a goon. The waiter comes over to take drink orders, and date orders a green tea. And now I am feeling like an achoholic. We peruse through the small talk, mostly with me carrying the conversation and discover (at least I discover) that we have pretty much nothing in common (actually, not sure if he know this or not). He doesn't like reading (how is this possible??). I doubt he watches the news. In conclusion, I could possibly eat him alive.

Lastly, we order dessert. I, having not had dessert in two weeks, devour mine (one does not abandon flourless chocolate cake!). Date claims his dessert is heavy and eats half. And now I am feeling like a fatty.

We leave. I make it across the street without killing myself on the ice.

Conclusion: I'm glad I went out. It's nice not spending the umpteenth night in with your dog, alone, and actually having a nice dinner.  It's also nice to get a little practice.

Notes for next time? Maybe wear the less high high heels :-)