Baptism By Fire Part One

He wants to meet me.  Fuck.

Part of me was preparing for that and the other part of me was hoping to God that he would never suggest such a thing.  Ever.  We could literally JUST date online. 

I told him ‘perhaps’ to the date as I may have a photo shoot (My roots are in photography) on the Saturday he wants to go out.  I would let him know by late Friday evening if it was a go.  This of course was all pure bullshit.  A believable excuse just in case I pussy out without making me look bad.

The rest of the week continued with even more flirtatious texts between us and I even got crazy and used emoticons.  I know I was really pushing the envelope.  By mid-week I felt the anxiety slowly creep its way in.  I needed to call in the troops.  I needed my most bestest lady friends for advice.

Carrie who lives in my neighborhood and is as fanatical about shoes as her Sex in the City namesake and just as pretty (bitch), is the first to see me and debate the issue of going on the date.  “What are you worried about?” She asks me.  I explain that I am SUPER self-conscious about the way I look.   I don’t want him to see me and be totally disappointed.  She rolled her eyes at me, irritated.  Carrie pointed out that he contacted me first.

The next 48 hours brought two more girlfriends over.  Sash my profile proofreader and Holly.  Like Sash, Holly found love online.  They try to ease my ever-growing doubt and anxiety.  Both only reiterated what Carrie said.  “You have nothing to lose and it will be a great learning experience.”  Holly was super hardcore about safety.  She suggested that I let as many people know about my date and use Facebook to check-in.  Smart.  Safety-first, as always.  She also wanted to remind me that I should try and have fun and that I’ll know within the first 10 minutes if he’s a stage-five clinger. 

I let Rico Suave know late Friday that I was able to go out Saturday.  So began my restless and anxiety driven sleep that ensued.  The morning brought a phone call from my oldest friend Leilani giving me a pep talk.  “Wear something that you know makes you look hot even though today you will feel like everything you try on doesn’t.  Take it as a learning experience and you’ll be fine.”  I thanked her and then not even 2 minutes later Sash texts me, “You’re beautiful and amazing.  He’s lucky you agreed to date him.”  I honestly don’t know what I would do without my best bitches around.

By the time 3pm rolled around I was a fucking mess.  My chest felt tight like I couldn’t breathe and I actually vomited bile.  I couldn’t eat and I had a horrific headache.  Carrie texted me to see how I was doing and I let her know that I was a complete wreck.  She forced me to head out with her and her daughter to decompress and run mindless errands to take my mind off how nervous I was.  She could tell that I was not in good shape the minute I got into her car.  “Breathe.”  She told me.  Easier said then done, I thought to myself.  The hour that I was out with Carrie and her daughter was a total blur.  I felt nauseous.  I just wanted to lie down or vomit.  “Breathe.  I can tell that you’re not breathing.” Carrie says to me, concerned.  “What do you have to be nervous about?”  I explain that I am totally freaking about the fact the he will not like me when he sees me in person.  I don’t want him to see me hobble in my crutches.  I will have nothing to say to him.  I don’t really know how to act.  That I’m debating on wearing a long dress, that is not as cute as the short one I want to wear, just so that it wouldn’t be so shocking to see me disabled.  Oh and the list goes on.

“He contacted you first and is FULLY aware of your situation and you have been texting so why wouldn’t he like you?  Take a Tylenol for the headache, have a snack and a drink to take the edge off.  Do you want me to come over to help you decide what to wear?” She asks.

“No.”  I just want to be alone and cry I think.

By the time Carrie drops me off at home to start getting ready for my date, I feel like I want to pass out.  She offers to drive me to the restaurant and have a quick drink with me at the bar beforehand.  I feel a teeny tiny sense of relief and accept her offer.  I vomit as soon as I walk in the door. I crawl into the shower and pray to God it helps to wash some of my nerves away or at least stop me from shaking uncontrollably.

I wear a white spaghetti strap knee length A-line summer dress with a sheer patterned overlay in the same colour, with an oak coloured cardigan and belt.  My shoe is an open-toed cage lace-up sandal.  I wear my favourite pair of oversized gold earrings and I’ve left my hair down, gave myself a smoky-eye and glossed my lips sheer.  It’s the best I could do and I still feel inadequate and ugly.

Carrie picks me up and grins madly in approval then notices the utter fear and anxiety in my face.

“BREATHE!” she says as she shakes my shoulders.

I am lightheaded when we arrive at the restaurant.  We find a booth at the bar and I am a giant ball of nerves.  We order sangrias and I’m shaking as I bring the beverage to my mouth.  Carrie then suggests that I should have a ‘back-up’ plan should the date die by the wayside.  She calls our server over and writes down a cell phone number on a napkin and tells the server that if I order a white wine sangria that he is to call her ASAP and she will come to my rescue and whisk me away.  She then says, “You’re lucky that I like you because I feel like an idiot giving the server my phone number.  He probably thinks I’m trying to pick him up!!”  We belly laugh, then she sucks back her drink, hugs the shit out of me and wishes me luck before I almost tearfully see her exit.

I am on my phone texting everyone I know that I’m at the restaurant waiting for him and trying to find ways to distract myself from dry-heaving right then and there.

Rico Suave texts me:

I’m here.  What are you wearing?

Shit. Here goes nothing…