Love Labor's Lost

volumes of mis-adventures

Going backwards

on September 14, 2010

I’ve devised a way of looking at the progression of dating. The first date is somewhat like an interview. You sit, you ask questions, you get to know one another, and, in an ideal situation, this all happens in a comfortable, simple, and natural way. The second date seemingly takes on a much more nerve wracking role. Assuming you get a second date, you now have something to lose and screw up, so pray the second date goes swimmingly. Try to use all those suave moves. Be witty. Be cute. Be adorable. Be unforgettable. (It’s a lot of pressure. I KNOW.) And well, that’s really all I have experience with. The third date always seems to be a deal breaker. What is up with the third date? It’s as if I’m in a race. I take a million steps forward, I’m jogging, I’m sprinting, about to pass the baton, and then I trip, and tumble to the ground, rolling in the mud, and gravel gets caught under my skin. It’s painful, bewildering, and all together frustrating because, well, I was so close. I remember being told, “third time’s the charm”, but is it? Because third time seems to be the moment where all hell breaks loose and I’m left with my head spinning trying to figure out which way is up. Bring on the commentary ladies and gents.


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