Friday, July 20, 2012

Breakfast, Lunch, Brunch, Coffee, Drinks, Dinner

Is there a male secret code for ranking the time of day when a first date happens as it relates to the potential of the woman on the date?  So a coffee date is, 'I may be attracted to you and interested but chances are I will have a nice conversation and then never call you again', kind of date.  Where as drinks are 'Yes, I am pretty sure I want to have sex with you and will probably call you again but I am not sure how long term this will be', kind of date.  And dinner is the golden egg of all first dates.  A dinner is 'I know we have never met before but I felt such an intense connection with you that I want to spend an entire evening with you before I ask you to marry me'. Maybe this secret code doesn't exist but it could.  And it would help women understand where they stand prior to the date.  It would allow us to decide how long we spend fretting over outfits, hair and makeup.  But really there is no secret code, right?  I am not so sure.

Recently I had  scheduled an evening drinks date with a new man.  Two days before said date, he asked if we could meet for breakfast.  Breakfast?  I felt like I had been downgraded, demoted and punched in the gut.  I was tempted to arrive in my Pajamas. What does breakfast say about his expectations of me?  Am I only omelet worthy and not martini material?  This man, Ken, claims that he needs to take care of his kids that evening so breakfast is our only option.  I am pretty sure that there are other days in the week, but now I am actually thinking about what I will order for breakfast.  The thought of an omelet with cheese, bacon and tomatoes is driving me toward accepting his invitation.  If I could get rye toast on the side, slathered in butter, this man may even get a kiss.  I'm in.

But now the quandary.  This is a first date.  That first impression.  What does one wear to a breakfast date?  Too much cleavage says 'I am eating now so I don't have to stop working the streets for a lunch break'.  Sweats say, 'I am clearly just meeting you so you can buy me an omelet'.  Jeans?  T-Shirt?  Shorts?  There are far too many options for breakfast.  And wait, why am I stressing so much about this when he was the one who downgraded me.  I should show up in my pajamas, hair on top of my head, teeth unbrushed.  Or wait - maybe I should dress up, show the cleavage, add some bling and show this guy what he is missing by serving me breakfast.

The morning arrives and we are meeting at 9am.  At 8:30 he tells me he is stuck in traffic.  Well of course you are, it is rush hour.  Because we are meeting for breakfast!  So our 9am date turns to a 9:30am date.  And then he tells me he has to be off by 10:30am for work.  Why even bother?  Who is this guy you ask?  Attorney, dad, claims he is an accomplished lover.  I am buying two out of three of those things.  But I am curious and damn, I love omelets.  So I press my boobs into a cleavage baring black dress, making sure they look fabulous, don a necklace that makes sure he can't miss my boobs and head out the door.

Ken, the accomplished lover has bragged to me about how no woman has ever left his bed unsatisfied.  He claims many have come back to him in between relationships because he is so good.  I am curious, I am intrigued and I am really hungry.  I arrive and there he is...the lover.  Short, pudgy and non-descript.  How is it this man has satisfied so many women.  What secret lurks beneath those khakis which I am starting to suspect may be Dickies?  I am pretty sure these women exist in his imagination or perhaps are all from the Niagra Falls area. He starts to talk to me and he has an awkward laugh that erupts from his mouth with every sentence.  Ok, he might be nervous but it is EVERY sentence.  Sigh.  Then he starts to tell me about his job.  Like I have never heard someone talk about being an attorney.  Sigh.  Then he leans forward and asks me if it is obvious that he is a sexual dynamo.  Seriously?  Sigh.  Waitress!  I order my omelet, my toast, my orange juice and coffee.  He talks and talks and talks and awkwardly laughs and laughs and laughs.  I enjoy my omelet and think about what I have to do that day.

I am shaken from my egg happiness when he suggests he blow off work and we adjourn to my house and more specifically my bedroom.  He tells me in graphic detail what he would like to do to me in said bedroom.  I am less focused on the details and more wondering why it has to be my house.  It is then he reveals he is temporarily homeless and bunks in with his ex-wife.  I look down at my omelet.  How quickly can I scarf the rest down and run?  There is about half left and it is really good but this date is getting weird.  Omelet or run.  My stomach wins.  I will finish this omelet.  I will listen to this man try to woo me with his sexy talk and then I will leave.

So it seems breakfast can be a sexy meal.  That omelet was so sensual and soft and made me feel so good about myself.  I may have to eat another again very, very soon. I also discovered that although I enjoy a good dinner, I much prefer a great breakfast.  So perhaps in the future I will suggest breakfast as my go to date.  I don't have to dress up, I can deflect sex by saying I have to go to work and I can eat an omelet.  So while men may have their dating code that defines the potential of the date by the time of day, I have my own now.  My dating code involves cues solely received from my stomach and its desires.  At least one part of my body should be satisfied after these events because after all I am 43 and single.

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