After our second date, I got a text from K saying that he’d like to make me dinner. What in the what? This had never happened to me before. I knew he was into cooking… he had mentioned on our first date that his dream was to open his own restaurant. Having a man prepare food to for me while I do nothing is essentially my dream, but the fact that the K lived an hour away with his brother and sister in law made the logistics… tricky. I asked if he would mind cooking at my place and he said that was fine. He also said he’d send me some ‘entree options’ soon.
What I received was a full blown menu in a Word document that was so comically serious there’s no way I can avoid sharing it with the world. Behold, K’s menu choices:
You guys. Can we talk about this document for a sec. The descriptions (tender perfection!). The recommendations. The options. The SOUP OPTIONS. Omg. I basically died. Accompanying the menu was, no joke, a checklist of kitchen items so intense it could have been for this:
and an email that made me slightly uncomfortable in its seriousness. I don’t mean to sound like a cold bitch; the whole thing, while over the top, was really sweet, thoughtful and honestly, very Lloyd Dobbler. The problem was, I could tell from his uncomfortably enthusiastic email that at this point K was more into me than I was into him, which honestly never happens to me. I had no idea what to think. I started to wonder if I was one date away from a grand gesture like this:
(Okay sorry, that scene actually bummed me out because how great was Heath Ledger?)
Confused, I immediately turned to L and D for their expert analysis:
They both came to the same general conclusion I had: K was really sweet and charming, and the menu, while hilarious, was also adorable. But the level of seriousness he was displaying after two dates was slightly off-putting. I still very much was trying to get to know K and figure out how much I even liked him. At the same time, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered by this romcom-esque turn of events.
The night of our date, K arrived at my door carrying (no joke) a broiling pan, huge steaks, clams, and all sorts of other shit, including flowers. Wow, I thought. How many single gals dream of this? It’s honestly what I’d secretly hoped dating would be like all the time: men wining and dining me, bringing me flowers and presenting me with comically elaborate dinner menus. Unfortunately the cold hard reality is that most single dudes out there can barely handle scheduling a time and place to meet. Some of them can’t remember where they parked their cars. So I resolved to enjoy experiencing the opposite end of the spectrum for once, because God knows when (or even if) it would come along again.
K cooked an elaborate dinner while I glugged wine and watched him work. The food was delicious and the wine continued to flow while we ate. Afterwards, we debated what to watch or at least pretend to watch before we started making out. I’d known from the very beginning that K was a self proclaimed “huge” Game of Thrones fan. The ‘you should message me if’ section of his okc profile actually reads: If you can’t stop thinking about Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire. On our second date K gasped in horror when he discovered I had HBO but had never seen the show. He then made me promise him (seriously) that I would give it a chance. So really I shouldn’t have been surprised when the following exchange occurred:
Me: What do you want to watch? Any ideas?
K: (Excitedly) We could get you started on Game of Thrones. We could watch the first episode.
Me: * sigh* Okay.
This was K’s reaction:
Fantasy medieval warfare was not exactly my idea of sexy date fodder, but my hands were tied. This dude had just lugged large kitchen equipment up my stairs and cooked me a steak that made me see God. And the idea of me watching this show literally seemed to be turning him on (which in hindsight was slightly troubling), so how could I say no? We watched the first two episodes, which were full of more tits and beheadings than I can possibly explain. At this point we were two and a half bottles of wine deep and it was getting late. So we started making out and yada yada yada…
Then I faced a dilemma. We were both a little tipsy and I knew K was in no shape to drive. It was late and I felt bad kicking this guy who had been so sweet to me to the curb. So I invited him to stay over. Which is not a big deal… I’m 28, we’re all adults here. But it’s also not something I generally do because mama likes her space, especially when I’m sleeping. I’m a tosser, a turner, a kicker, and a flailer. Basically I sleep like this:
And if you disturb me from my slumber, God help you (L and D can attest to this). So I honestly should have foreseen there being an issue and made him sleep on the couch, but I was tired and in my red wine stupor thought, ‘It’ll be fine.’
It was not fine. K snored. Actually ‘snored’ is not an accurate description. I know snoring. This was beyond anything I’ve ever experienced… a buzz saw at full volume. It was so. Effing. Loud. I laid there, tired and frustrated, considering my options. First I tried to wake K up and make him sleep on the couch, but this dude would not. wake. the hell. up. I was shoving him full force and getting no response. If it hadn’t been for the terrifying noises coming from his body I would have pronounced him dead.
So finally I moved. I slept in my roommate’s (empty) bed. And I was not pleased. I heard him get up early the next morning and walk around my apartment, no doubt wondering where the hell I’d gone. I came out to find him in the living room, sheepishly putting his shoes on.
“Oh man, I’m sorry. Did my snoring wake you?”
My cranky, sleep deprived self had to bite my tongue to avoid a snarky response like: “Wake me? No. That would imply that I actually was able to FALL ASLEEP, which I was not.” The rational part of me knew that snoring isn’t anyone’s fault. K couldn’t help it. I’ve been told I snore before… what can you do? Switch beds, that’s what you can do.
So instead I answered: “Yeahhhh, it’s okay, no big deal.” At this point I was ready for homeboy to GTFO. Besides the fact that 12+ hours is a long time for two people who barely know each other to spend together, I had not brushed my teeth (which we’ve learned many men actually think is normal) or had my coffee. So I was desperately clinging to the single shred of faux cheerfulness I had managed to muster. At any moment, Morning S was going to rear her head, and let me tell you, Morning S is not a nice person.
Except K wanted to shoot the shit. He asked me what I was doing all day (I had plans), if I wanted to get breakfast (thanks but I’m good), and when I was free next (I’d check my calendar and let him know). Finally I scooted him and his broiler pan out the door but not before he could attempt to full on make out with me when we said goodbye (again, NO ONE had brushed their teeth at this point. Gross).
Date rating: 7/10. K had a perfect 10 before he forced me to watch Game of Thrones, snored me out of my own bed, and overstayed his welcome in the morning.
Stay tuned for the conclusion of S and K: a dating story. Our 4th (and final) date will be posted on Friday.