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?