Shoes, Glorious Shoes

I was over at an MF, and we got to talking about guys who are “bad at dating.”

“It’s usually the little things, like as small as just telling you where they plan to take you on a first date. It doesn’t matter if you’re going to a lounge, but if you’re not, it really does! I can’t count how many times I walked around Central Park in 3-inch heels. And I went bowling in heels, too.”

“They let you bowl in heels?”

“I don’t remember if they let, exactly. But I wasn’t going to put my feet in those bowling shoes without socks! That’s disgusting! If I’d have known I’d have brought a pair. And I would have gone ice skating in my heels too if it was possible. I mean, seriously. Why am I handing in a pair of 4-inch stilettos at the skate rental? That’s just weird! There’s something wrong with that situation. And then me trying to skate in a fit-and-flair dress that I bought for sitting in a lounge looking pretty. If you’re going to do something unusual, you tell the girl.”

This rant, mind you, from someone who’s been married four years. I guess her bunions still remember.

 

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Things I Have Not Said on a Date…

…but sometimes wish I had. I mean, it’s not like those dates went anywhere. I might as well have gotten something out of the experience.

“Mind if I jot down a few of these titles?”

The B&N date. There you are surrounded by shelves and shelves of books… okay, it very much raises your awareness of how many trees die for the sake of tripe, but what about the good stuff? Or the stuff that looks good? You can’t exactly pull The Hunger Games off the shelf to skim when you’ve got a guy to entertain. But would it be very rude to jot down the title and author of that book with the very clever cover over there?

“Can we get the inner tubes from your car and try that flume?”

This one occurred to me while putting at the lamest mini golf course in the world. I thought the fun of mini golf was hitting the ball through windmills and loop-the-loops and various other interesting obstacles. Not this course. It was 18 holes of 12 feet of blank fake turf. The most interesting thing was a fake stream coursing between the various stations. It reminded me of a water park slide. And it was long enough to afford a few seconds of sliding. If only…

“Just let me take off my heels and we’ll race.”

The Intrepid has a long flight deck. I’d probably have to work hard not to leave the average out-of-shape bochur embarrassingly behind, but it would be worth the effort. The other time I wanted to kick off the shoes and run: escalator racing in the mall. He takes the one going up; you take the one going down, and whoever gets to the top first wins. Only you can’t do that in cockroach killers. So you hand him your boots (he’s the gentleman after all) and take off.

“Would you mind admiring those violets for just a few minutes?”

There is one seriously deficiency to walk-in-the-park dates. You can’t actually do any fun park things when you’re wearing a short skirt and hosiery. It is sooo painful to walk past all those amazing climbing trees and not get a chance to give them a swing. Or a clamber. And seriously – what are sprawling, well-branched trees there for, if not climbing?

“Wheeeee!”

The Waldorf-Astoria has some amazing banisters leading up from its lobby. They’re wide enough that you can comfortably perch on them sidesaddle, and not so steep that you have to worry about flying off sans dignity… oh why didn’t I give them a whirl? I confess this is one thing I still regret and regularly kick myself over. If anyone finds themselves in the Waldorf-Astoria lobby on a date, carpe diem – take a ride down the banisters.