When it Rains, It Pours
By Erin Ann McBride and Juli Hiatt Caldwell, who note that April showers bring May flowers … and Mayflowers bring pilgrims

It had been more than six months since my last date.  Ok, if you want to know the truth, it had been so long since my last date that I was trying very hard not to figure out how long it had really been since my last night of charming entertainment.  So when George suddenly appeared in my life, I was rather excited.  He was (gasp!) from my ward, and relatively entertaining.  He wasn’t the first guy I would choose to go out with, but after wandering in the desert, completely parched, for so long, I wasn’t going to turn down a long tall cool drink of water! 

We had only met a few times prior to our date, but I thought I had a good idea of what to expect from him.  The date was set for Thursday evening, and we were supposed to meet for dinner.  While mid-week first dates are a bit odd in my humble opinion, I thought this sounded better than the alternative of sacrificing an entire Saturday night in case the date went south.  Oh, okay, who are we kidding?  Beggars can’t be choosers; I was willing to go out with him regardless of which day of the week he had picked. He was, after all, standing in the middle of the oasis with a water hose, and I was rather thirsty. 

Being the over-analytical, boy crazy, love-to-get-crazy-about-love girl that I am, I normally would have called my favorite five girlfriends and planned out the perfect outfit for the date. But quite frankly, George wasn’t the kind of guy who inspired outfit analysis.  However, in the middle of the drought I was living in, he did inspire one phone call to a girlfriend to discuss closet contents.

The girlfriend and I decided on a red sweater and a simple black skirt for the date.  I was starting to get a little excited for the date, or at least, just the idea of a date.  George was interesting and not completely dull to look at.  I was hoping that he would put a little effort into looking good for me, too, so he might look a little more visually exciting than usual.  I had just psyched myself up for a great time with George when suddenly my mobile phone rang again.

Now I Need an Umbrella!

“Annie, it’s James.  How are you?” 

Nothing could have prepared me for a completely out of the blue phone call from a boy I really, really, really liked.  James and I flirted periodically at Institute, joked around at parties, and I wishfully hung around him at munch and mingles.  After six months of wishing he would take it all just one step further, I was floored when he invited me to go out with him.

Moments later I was back on the phone with my girlfriend with the news and challenge of creating a second perfect first date outfit.  We quickly decided that there was nothing appropriate in my closet or hers for the date, so we planned a last minute shopping trip, right before I met George at the restaurant. 

Thursday evening, we made Rambo style attack on our favorite shops, finding a perfect, flattering outfit for the date with James, and on impulse I purchased a new sweater for the date with George. I felt a little guilty trying to look better for James – after all, George had asked first.

I quickly ran from the mall to the restaurant to meet George.  I walked in the doors and stopped dead in my tracks.  Take George out of the ancient Sunday suit that may well have been purchased for a mission ten, twelve years before (quick, random rant: why are men allowed to wear the same thing every year and it’s still in???).

But I digress.  He was not in his Sunday suit at all, thankfully, but a Banana Republic button down shirt and casual slacks, and whoa!  The boy looked good!  Suddenly the torture of changing in my car in the parking lot, praying that no one saw me as I yanked and twisted the sweater into submission, was worth it!  I put on my best smile and enjoyed our date.  George turned out to be incredibly charming and interesting.  He had a strange habit of taking monstrous bites out of his burger, bites that made me ponder in awe if he really could jam both fists in there, but I was willing to overlook the table manners since he was fun when his mouth was otherwise occupied.  By the end of the evening, I had a small but growing crush on George.  He was even worthy of a phone call to said girlfriend from the car on the way home.  I was crossing my fingers for a second date with him within the week.

I have to admit that Friday was an interesting blend of daydreams for me.  First, there were the lingering daydreams over George and the prediction daydreams over James.  And to be perfectly honest, I have a crush on a co-worker named Paul.  And every day he inspires 3-5 daydreams in varying lengths.  You can only imagine how much work I got done, or maybe better put, how little I got done.

Friday night finally came around and it was time for the date with James.  I wore the previously analyzed and prepared outfit.  Did my hair in just the right way, and waited by the door.  One major difference between George and James was the mode of transportation.  George and I just met up at the restaurant.  James picked me up at home. 

I’ll spare you the details of the date, but I will mention there was some arm touching, “accidental” knee bumping, endless eye-gazing, and goofy smiling.  It was great.  For a girl that had been wandering in a dating desert for a really long time, I was suddenly drowning.  I needed a life preserver, but to be honest, I probably would have tossed it back if you handed it to me! What a way to go!  Drowning in too many dates! I couldn’t have been happier.  Oh and the date with James was as good as my overactive imagination had hoped it would be. 

It’s Raining Men!  Hallelujah!

Suddenly I didn’t know what to do myself.  The date with James left me with a grin wider than a coat hanger … and I couldn’t shake the thoughts of George, either.  Saturday was filled with daydreams of two knights riding up on white horses, complete with shining armor (okay, James got a black horse and George had a white horse, because even my imagination can get confused sometimes), and dueling for my honor.  With so much love in the air, I was able to make myself look particularly cute for a party on Saturday night.  I held court and was the belle of the ball flirting madly with both boys, sometimes at the same time.

I floated through the weekend and arrived safe and sound at my desk on Monday.  Love, or at least two back to back dates with such great guys, had brought a smile to my face and spring to my step.  I basked in my glorious new glow and euphoric attitude.  It’s amazing what just getting noticed by the opposite sex can do for you.  I think guys have a radar-like sixth sense and somehow just know when someone else has noticed you.  I was attempting to keep a level head when Paul walked in the office …

What are the odds that three wonderful guys would ask me out in less than a week when the last time I had a date may very well have been over a year ago?  What was different about me?  Was my wardrobe making me look thirty pounds slimmer?  Was my hair suddenly doing just as it should?  Did I finally master the trick to flirting?  Was it my new shoes?  Did I have magic pheromones?  What was going on?  I needed to know!  I wanted to keep this new magic! 

So yes, Paul asked me to join him for dinner after work.  I obviously couldn’t do a full wardrobe analysis before the date, but I could be secretly glad I was wearing control top hose.  And the date went perfectly.

Again, I ask you.  What are the odds?  Three amazing dates in a week after a year wandering lonely in the desert? 

The daydreams were suddenly full of three knights on horses – black, white, and Arabian for Paul now.  In each fantasy a different knight was winning the battle for my heart.  I sat and dreamed and waited for the phone to ring.

And I waited...

And I waited…

And I waited…

Not a cloud in the sky.

What You Said

Marc wrote to offer his opinion on dating. Thanks, Marc!  We need more men like you to tell the girls what we really need to hear. He said, “The dating game is difficult enough without all the mental and emotional gymnastics. Those emails that go around about how men really don't understand women are not really jokes. They are hard facts. I especially like the one where the guy asks the girl, ’What's wrong?" and she says, ‘Nothing.’ A guy pretty much appreciates that answer as he can now get back to working on the car or watching the hockey game. Unfortunately, when most women answer that way, they are not being honest and seem to want to provoke a confrontation as opposed to expressing what is really at the root of their issue.”

He has a point. Sometimes girls like to see how good a mind-reader a guy is, and sometimes we just want to whine and vent, and a little more probing into this seemingly innocuous answer is just what she needs.  Maybe next time, guys, if a girl is pouting and you ask her what’s wrong, and she tell you nothing, try following that up with a simple question like, “Are you sure? Your voice doesn’t sound like you’re ok.”  Chances are excellent that she’ll spill, and you will earn double bonus points for being so perceptive to her needs.

Jennie kindly answered our call for your Valentine’s Day horror stories.  She writes, “The last Valentine's Day I had an actual significant other was four years ago. I had been dating the guy since November. I liked him, I liked his family, his family liked me, and I thought he liked me too. I was terrified in January when he came down with a severe illness and had to be driven up to Canada to get the medical attention he needed (he was Canadian, living in Utah, and he had no insurance to pay for it in the States). I didn't hear from him for two weeks after he got there, and had to track him down through his parents to see if he was still alive. He was, but said he hadn't wanted to use his sister's long-distance.  He called me on Valentine's Day, said he thought he should wish me a happy one ... but he didn't even say that he missed me.

“The whole call together couldn't have been longer than 10 minutes. Wasn't I still his girlfriend? Didn't he like me? Was he ever coming back to Utah? I emailed him to ask these very questions. He replied that as he had a new job and was still recovering from his illness, that he needed some time just to recover, and that he wasn't ready for a relationship.  Understandable, yes? So I thought. Three weeks later (count ‘em!) I receive another email to me and everyone else in his inbox announcing that he'd met a really great girl and that they were getting married in May.

"Anyway, it’s taken me three years to recover from that wound, and I have some advice for my peers:

“Girls: Don't let a broken heart put you out of commission. Cry, eat chocolate, cry some more, and then get over it. Live despite it all. Live hard. Just live. Don't base your happiness on the poor decisions of others. I did, and I regret it.

“Guys: Do you like her? Fine. Tell her. Ask her out. It will be appreciated. You don't like her? Also fine. Don't know yet? Don't want to make up your mind? Incredibly fine. It's your choice. But please, I beg of you, do your best to be honest with the girl. When in doubt, ask advice from a sister, a mother, or even the bishop's wife if you have to, but be honest with the girl in question.”

What do you think, guys?  Was the guy unfair to her? Should she have seen it coming?  Whatever happened to the good, old-fashioned break-up? Yes, it’s ugly and no one wants to have any part of it. No one likes breaking another’s heart. (And if you do, we suggest therapy or anger management.)  How would you have handled the situation differently?  Any and all ideas are welcome and open to debate in our inbox.  We are always here at erinandjuli@meridianmagazine.com. 

Quote of the Week

Special thank to Michelle for sending us our love quote of the week.  She sent in something by Matt Groening: "Love is a perky elf dancing a merry little jig and then suddenly he turns on you with a miniature machine-gun."  Sad … but true. Where’s a Kevlar vest when you need one?

Thanks and have a great week!