Last month I caved in and agreed to do a speed-dating event with one of my fellow singleton girlfriends. I told myself years ago I would never do such a crazy thing, but as none of my other attempts at finding the man of my dreams have turned out successful, I decided I’d give it a whirl. No more twiddling my thumbs waiting for prince charming to ride in on a white horse…or bump into me on the crowded subway car.
So there we are, Jenny and I at the event, ready to meet our fifty dates. Yes, fifty! Fifty guys, fifty girls, each paired with one another for two minutes. Aside from feeling a bit like I was holding interviews with each of them, sitting on my high bar stool, fastidiously scribbling notes on my worksheet, it was more enjoyable than I’d expected. There were a mixed lot of misters there– a few guidos, a few weirdos, one or two creeps and then thankfully a few I kinda liked. After the three-hour whirlwind of ‘Hey X, tell me about yourself’ and ‘I’m Andrea, blah blah blah,’ I had ‘yes’ next to six names. Better than I’d expected.
After a few immediate emails back and forth between myself and several of my potential suitors, two dates and another I had to cancel and never rescheduled, nothing has come out of that evening. Well, nothing except for a date to a Yankees/Red Sox game last week. Let’s not get excited though. It wasn’t a date for me; it was a date for my friend Jenny, with me along as the third wheel/friend/wing-woman. Thirteen years living in New York City and I’d never been to a baseball game. Leave it to speed dating to get me there! And at the brand-spanking new Yankees stadium no less.
Being one of the mindset that every day is a great one, it takes very little to get me enthused. If the subway ride to the Bronx was a thrill and the pre-game beers in the rowdy joint under the train tracks had me singing along with the jukebox and beaming from ear to ear, imagine the look on my face when I saw that we were sitting in Row 20. Uh huh. You could spit on the field. Not that I did, but yeah, we were that close. I felt like I was at a little league game, sitting in the bleachers—except for the fact that Derek Jeter and Johnny Damon were on the field. I love those uniform pants! And their long, lean, legs…when they do their stretches…their cute little butts… ok, well you get my point.
Even the fact that the rain hit in the seventh inning, that my hot dog bun was soggy (thanks to the sauerkraut I needed to have) and then of course that the Yanks got squashed didn’t tarnish the night. I was for the first time in my life that little boy at the ball game with his dad. Or that girl who tagged along on her friend’s date cause she couldn’t find one of her own! Either way, I had the time of my life, singing along to “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” and eating peanuts with the guy in the next seat over. (Unfortunately it wasn’t a love connection.)
I won’t lie and tell you I’m a huge baseball fan, but it is true that I can’t wait to go back. Next time I’m aiming to have a guy of my own…or at least a dateless single friend who can be on the lookout with me!