Room to Glance: Picking a Good Second Date Activity

Butterflies

 

So while all the kerfuffle with Kevin Bacon was going on…let’s be honest…my life carried on pretty much the same as usual.  Suntanning.  Studying.  The usual.  Saturday I got a call from The Vampire who, to be honest, I wasn’t sure I’d hear from again.  Sure our first date had gone amaze but then he’d bailed on our 2nd date plans and I’ve really been trying to get better at reading signals.  This being the exact reason I hadn’t contacted him since the bail.  It was his move or no move.  And move he did.  By leaving a lengthy, adorable, vaguely nervous and rambly message on my voicemail.  Something about making plans to hang out this weekend and hoping my day was going good.

This weekend?  Was he joking?  It was Saturday already.  Afternoon and all but still.  Mamma doesn’t make last minute plans with new “somethings”.  Boy better step his game up yo.  But seriously.  If you want to see me on the weekend and we’ve had less than 5 dates you had better be asking by Wednesday…at the latest.

*Bee Tee Dub…5 dates isn’t a hard and fast rule that’s just about the time that I figure I’m feeling comfortable and we’re both pretty clear that we at least like the other person enough to not worry about first impressions etc.

That being said…this wasn’t to say I wouldn’t hang out with him.  Just that my weekend was already booked with a stagette and other plans.  So we made plans for Tuesday.  Unfortunately another “Day Date” (more on this later).  5pm.  I made some suggestions.  Drinks.  Coffee.  Shoot pool.  He chose pool.  And I’ll be honest.  I think I felt a butterfly.

Have I ever mentioned my love of pool?  Because I really love it.  Like ALL CAPS KIND OF LOVE.  And it’s not even just the fact that it’s a game based upon balls, sticks, pockets *insert obvious dirty & pun filled jokes here*.  It’s so much more than that.

First, I like an activity on a date.  But not something intense that becomes the focus of the date like go-karting or hiking or going to a concert.  Those things are great down the road.  During the we-know-each-other-and-just-want-to-do-fun-things kind of dating.  But not in the new part.  When we’re still just finding out things about the other person and possibly don’t even know last names yet.  So shooting pool is perfect.  Because it’s fun.  It’s sexy (all the bending and leaning and shooting *insert more dirty jokes and punny innuendo*).  And it allows the chatter to still flow flawlessly without having to constantly just look at the other person.  I like room for glancing.  You need space to have a glance.  Look away.  And glance back.  I fucking love a good glance.  And that’s what pool allows.

Though I should really add an addendum or qualifier to my statement about my love of pool.  Because after all, I’m not amazing.  I’m not horrendous.  I’m somewhere in the middle.  And my skills definitely fluctuate.  Though I’ve been known to hold my own with the boys.

Further addendum to that.  Generally when I play pool I’m on a date.  With Twitter Guy.  With Trucker Joe.  With The Nick Name.  With The PhD.  Hmm…that’s quite the list.  And possibly the only times I’ve played pool in the last 2-3 years.  I wonder if I’m dating just so I can shoot some balls around with my big stick.  Heyyooo.  It had to be said.

Final addendum.  For any chicks or friends willing to play pool with me.  I promise I won’t jump your bones or check you out when you line ’em up.  I’m not an animal after all.  I can control myself.  Please still play pool with me.

So that was that.  I had a 2nd date booked with The Vampire.  And though excited, there was definitely a part of me that tried to keep it nonchalant.  Because he’d already bailed once.  Who’s to say he wouldn’t bail again.  We’ll see….

 

To Be Continued . . .

The following two tabs change content below.

Victoria Young

Writer. Dater. Masturbator. Don't worry my parents don't think I'm funny either. Grad Student. My breasts aren't ashamed of me either. You and me kid, we're going to change this world.