I Dated

I need to put it out there that I went out on a date last week.  It was the first "real" date I think I've ever been on.

Growing up in the 50's and 60's didn't provide a lot of relationship-testing dating opportunities for a gay kid from the suburbs of Wilmington, Delaware.  I couldn't exactly ask the captain of the football team to go to the prom with me.  So I didn't go to my prom. 

"Jack" is a guy I met a year or so ago at a 12-Step meeting I sometimes attend on Saturday nights over near the Willow Grove naval air station in Pennsylvania.  He's fun and kooky -- and fairly new in recovery (more than a year, but less than 2).  I hadn't seen him in many months when he resurfaced at the meeting about 2 months ago.  He asked me if I'd be willing to help him with one of the Steps, to which I happily agreed.  We never quite got it together to do the step work but he called me the week before Christmas and wondered if I'd go out to dinner and a movie with him.  I didn't think anything about it, other than as an "activity" a couple of guys in recovery could do together.

But I talked about it, with my sponsor and with some friends and the feedback was all the same... that this was a "date."

As dates go, it was catastrophic.  The service was terrible at the restaurant.  The food practically inedible (Thai/Malay).  The movie he picked, one of the "Fokker" flicks, was gawd-awful and his movie etiquette was abysmal (he yapped and commented throughout, much to the chagrin of me and everyone around us.).

But it *was* fun.  And I did have a good time.  And I do like him.  Even if he wants to live in half a dozen cities and is converting to Judaism (whatever for?  didn't he get enough guilt in his Catholic childhood?).

I went out on a date.  With a guy. What next?  A goodnight kiss? Cue Katy Perry!

Whodda thunk it?