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Fried Rice
Heidi Rice
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“Honey, do you remember our first date?” I asked Husband-Head after hanging up the phone with my old high school girlfriend from California. “What did we do and how did we meet?”
Husband-Head was sitting on the couch and it was clear that there couldn’t be a subject he was less interested in than that of reminiscing about our dating days nearly 20 years ago.
Why is it that we girls want to remember every detailed minute, yet the actual wedding date seems to be a painful memory for the men?
From what I recall, the first time I met Husband-Head, I was tending bar at a local well-known watering hole, and he and 20 of his closest friends had come in to celebrate his birthday. Each one of his so-called “buddies” had ordered him a shot of liquor and — even though this was prior to the stringent liquor laws about overserving a patron — I knew that it was not a good idea. “Ummm ... dude ... you’re gonna die if you drink all these,” I warned him as I looked at all the shot glasses lined up on the bar.
“Then go out with me,” he bargained, as he started to drink the shots.
Not wanting him to die on my shift, I agreed to meet him the next night, pretty sure that there was no way he would ever remember the date.
I was wrong.
He didn’t die, but he did show up for our date.
And we ended up getting married — not until three years later, of course — but we’ve lived happily ever after since then.
All that came back to me the other weekend when my best friend from high school in California called me to give an update on her latest dating debacle.
Dana is a single, slim, smart and stylish woman, but for some reason she’s been single all of her life. She’s tried her hand several times at the online dating services, but so far has not had much luck with the men she’s met.
We talk on the phone almost every Friday night to share the events of our week and what’s been happening in our lives.
On this particular evening, Dana was relating a recent date she’d been on with a guy she’d met on one of the online dating services. The man claimed to be a 54-year-old medical doctor.
After chatting for a while, they agreed to meet for dinner at an Outback Steakhouse restaurant. “That’s not bad,” I said, trying to be encouraging. “I hear they have great steak and pasta.”
“I don’t even LIKE pasta!” Dana pointed out.
For me, it would be all about the food, but obviously this isn’t the main course in the dating world.
“And then he had a friggin’ coupon for the blooming onion appetizer,” Dana lamented.
I found this to be kind of funny, and I laughed.
You don’t like onions, nor do you want to kiss someone after eating them?
“Then, at the end of the dinner, he pulled out a gift certificate to pay for it all,” she continued. “And this guy is supposed to be a DOCTOR!”
Hmmm ... perhaps the economy is bad even for physicians.
I put my hand over the mouthpiece of the phone so she couldn’t hear me laughing. ...
Nevertheless, Dana relayed that she continued to give him a chance and accepted an invitation to go to his apartment for a cocktail afterwards. Which, surprisingly, did not go well.
“I am not going to date a guy who drives a crappier car than I do and lives in a crappier apartment than I do,” she reported indignantly. “It was gross!”
At this point, I had my hand over my mouth and was trying not to snot in my palm...
I didn’t even venture to ask if there had been any intimacy involved and what it was like...
“And furthermore, he had a flag draped over his bed,” she continued, answering my unasked question. “And he’s not even a veteran — he’s an idiot! I am SO done with dating!”
I wanted to console her by relaying all the idiots I’d dated — and kissed — in my younger years, but I didn’t think it would make her feel better.
When you’re dating in your middle-aged years, you think you know better by now and have learned from past mistakes.
HA!
Guess what...you’re pretty much just as stupid as you were when you were 25.
I looked at Husband-Head with new eyes after Dana and I got off the phone.
“Honey, let’s go out to Red Lobster for a romantic dinner this weekend,” I suggested. “I think I have a coupon...”
Heidi Rice is a reporter for the Post Independent. Her column runs every Friday. A book collection of her columns is available for purchase at the Post Independent or through her web site at www.heidirice.com
Husband-Head was sitting on the couch and it was clear that there couldn’t be a subject he was less interested in than that of reminiscing about our dating days nearly 20 years ago.
Why is it that we girls want to remember every detailed minute, yet the actual wedding date seems to be a painful memory for the men?
From what I recall, the first time I met Husband-Head, I was tending bar at a local well-known watering hole, and he and 20 of his closest friends had come in to celebrate his birthday. Each one of his so-called “buddies” had ordered him a shot of liquor and — even though this was prior to the stringent liquor laws about overserving a patron — I knew that it was not a good idea. “Ummm ... dude ... you’re gonna die if you drink all these,” I warned him as I looked at all the shot glasses lined up on the bar.
“Then go out with me,” he bargained, as he started to drink the shots.
Not wanting him to die on my shift, I agreed to meet him the next night, pretty sure that there was no way he would ever remember the date.
I was wrong.
He didn’t die, but he did show up for our date.
And we ended up getting married — not until three years later, of course — but we’ve lived happily ever after since then.
All that came back to me the other weekend when my best friend from high school in California called me to give an update on her latest dating debacle.
Dana is a single, slim, smart and stylish woman, but for some reason she’s been single all of her life. She’s tried her hand several times at the online dating services, but so far has not had much luck with the men she’s met.
We talk on the phone almost every Friday night to share the events of our week and what’s been happening in our lives.
On this particular evening, Dana was relating a recent date she’d been on with a guy she’d met on one of the online dating services. The man claimed to be a 54-year-old medical doctor.
After chatting for a while, they agreed to meet for dinner at an Outback Steakhouse restaurant. “That’s not bad,” I said, trying to be encouraging. “I hear they have great steak and pasta.”
“I don’t even LIKE pasta!” Dana pointed out.
For me, it would be all about the food, but obviously this isn’t the main course in the dating world.
“And then he had a friggin’ coupon for the blooming onion appetizer,” Dana lamented.
I found this to be kind of funny, and I laughed.
You don’t like onions, nor do you want to kiss someone after eating them?
“Then, at the end of the dinner, he pulled out a gift certificate to pay for it all,” she continued. “And this guy is supposed to be a DOCTOR!”
Hmmm ... perhaps the economy is bad even for physicians.
I put my hand over the mouthpiece of the phone so she couldn’t hear me laughing. ...
Nevertheless, Dana relayed that she continued to give him a chance and accepted an invitation to go to his apartment for a cocktail afterwards. Which, surprisingly, did not go well.
“I am not going to date a guy who drives a crappier car than I do and lives in a crappier apartment than I do,” she reported indignantly. “It was gross!”
At this point, I had my hand over my mouth and was trying not to snot in my palm...
I didn’t even venture to ask if there had been any intimacy involved and what it was like...
“And furthermore, he had a flag draped over his bed,” she continued, answering my unasked question. “And he’s not even a veteran — he’s an idiot! I am SO done with dating!”
I wanted to console her by relaying all the idiots I’d dated — and kissed — in my younger years, but I didn’t think it would make her feel better.
When you’re dating in your middle-aged years, you think you know better by now and have learned from past mistakes.
HA!
Guess what...you’re pretty much just as stupid as you were when you were 25.
I looked at Husband-Head with new eyes after Dana and I got off the phone.
“Honey, let’s go out to Red Lobster for a romantic dinner this weekend,” I suggested. “I think I have a coupon...”
Heidi Rice is a reporter for the Post Independent. Her column runs every Friday. A book collection of her columns is available for purchase at the Post Independent or through her web site at www.heidirice.com
