Bonnie is a full-time student and nerd at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She enjoys spending her days reading, fangirling, daydreaming, and attempting to adopt many more cats than necessary. You can read about her literary misadventures on her blog, The Final Font-ier.
Mom was good friends with a blonde-haired, blue-eyed guy named Ryan that she describes as “ever so slightly chubby in a cute teddy bear kind of way.” He was more like one of her girlfriends or shopping partners in crime than the guys she usually dated (he listened as well as talked, and delighted in chocolate and kittens). They always had an awesome time together, so it only seemed natural that they should eventually go out.
Their first date was at one of his favorite restaurants. As usual, they talked and laughed and generally had a good time. Everything was going swimmingly until the food arrived. He had ordered one of those monstrous burgers, taller than the common giraffe, which baffle those with normal-sized mouths. This was not a problem for her friend Ryan. He unhinged his python jaw with the speed and efficiency of someone who had effectively gone several days without eating and had awaited this moment with predatory glee.
It was about a month after I’d met Kyle—he was that one kid who always sat in the front of my biology class asking really obvious questions, but it was kind of endearing. I’d started nonchalantly sitting a row closer to the front every week, attempting to not look awkward as I inched closer to the incredibly handsome back of a head I’d been staring at all semester. A few weeks into class, I finally got the guts to say hi to him, and eventually he asked me out.
The horror story starts at our third date, at a particularly fancy restaurant-that-shall-not-be-named. I felt like a princess as the hostess took us to our table and he sat down across from me in a flattering collared shirt. I was stupidly gawking at him and wouldn’t have heard a word the waiter said if it hadn’t been for that familiar voice.
I was on my first date with Josh, a nice but kind of awkward guy I’d met at a football game. He’d won me over with some cheesy puns and a cute, slightly-crooked smile. He had baby blue eyes that sort of squinted when he laughed. It’s a bummer he turned out to be kind of creepy.
Things were going pretty well, even though he had a few quirks. For one thing, he kept mumbling to himself, although since I didn’t know for sure if I was just imagining things at the time, I didn’t think about it much. He’d brought me to a nice restaurant, but absolutely insisted on a window table, so it took way longer than it should have to be seated. We did have a nice time after that, and we realized we shared an affinity for Buffy the Vampire Slayer and midnight bowling. He was friendly and pleasant enough, although he was obviously nervous. He kept fidgeting, and even pulled out his phone to text once or twice, a pet peeve of mine.
All in all, I wasn’t exactly impressed, but by the end of the date I guess I decided he was a nice and funny guy and was considering seeing him again. It’s a good thing I caught sight of the van. That’s right, the van. Yes, it’s as weird as it sounds.
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