… so I’ll have to say it here.
“Just went on a date with a guy I made out with over 7 [?] years ago…”
or something to that effect.
Met J through a dating website. I kinda pondered if it could be him or not, but a few minutes into the date, I was sure it was. I was the one who brought it up. He said yeah, that was him. We had met (read: made out) more than once at a bar.
He remembered–I did not until he brought it up–the time that A and I took him home and he had left his keys in his car, so we had to go back to the car, get his keys, take him back to his place. He even remembered my car.
I didn’t put forth much effort into the date. We were surrounded with tons to watch, including a woman who took off her shirt (she was wearing a bikini top) and her male friends who all took off their shirts. I think he was trying. He asked questions. He’s nice enough (and a super cute Massachusetts accent), but I just couldn’t put forth much. I did try, some. I think had we not had a “past,” that I would have been able to put forth more. Sorry, dude.
We left fairly early. I think he was kinda disappointed, wanted to do more (even if not with me). Made a comment about just going home, saying that he was okay with that since he was out late last night (and drank a lot last night). I think he was a bit ready for more of a party or whatever.
Me? I came home totally sober (a few beers); I’m already in my pj’s. I was okay with “calling it,” (as he said) fairly early on a Friday night.
I pretty much laughed all the way home.
Oh, the irony.
how funny is that!!?!!