I didn’t coin that phrase. I stole it from Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City. A simu-date is a date you go on when you find yourself putting a lot of pressure on another guy/girl, another date.
This morning, I went on a simu-date. Breakfast, at the Golden Griddle down the street.
I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to go when I set up the date. I didn’t want to go when I woke up this morning. I didn’t want to go after my hair was all flat-ironed and straight and shiny. There was a voice inside me that kept saying, “this is not going to go well.”
Funny thing about that voice. It’s always right.
It wasn’t AWFUL. But it was’t great. It wasn’t even very good. It was just kind of…meh. There was zero chemistry (from my side anyway), and we have almost nothing in common.
I’m really. Not. Interested.
Of course, the problem is that I don’t know how to say no. Like when he said “So, there’s a movie theatre up the street from here. Maybe we’ll go for a coffee and go see a movie sometime.” I should have said, “um…je pense que non.” Instead, I said, “Sure, why don’t you send me an e-mail. That’s the best way to get in touch with me.”
I’m such a loser.
No more simu-dates.
Though, I really did set myself up for this one. I knew it would be bad. I knew a bit about him, and all of it screamed “NOT RIGHT FOR YOU.” But I went anyway. Mostly to take the edge off the candy-man, where I have been putting way too much pressure. But it didn’t do any good. And it didn’t help that the first thing I thought of this morning stuck with me all through the date.
Memories are a funny thing. You don’t know what will trigger them, or how they’ll make you feel once you’ve remembered. I had a memory this morning, from a long time ago.
It was late September, 2001. A friend of mine was going to Mexico for 6 months, and we had gone to her going-away party – the first time he met my friends. The first time we danced together. As usual, everyone loved him. He got along great with all the guys, and all the girls. Drinking, talking, laughing. But it was what happened afterwards that came back to me this morning.
It was late that night (or rather, early the next morning). He called me when he got home. Told me had a great time. And then, for the first time, he told me how he felt about me. He said this:
“Anne, I just adore you.”
Nothing happened this morning to trigger that memory. But it’s all I’ve been able to think about today.