Spitting out that freshly-bitten bullet

I had my first date post-mission! And my first real "first date" (like, asking out a girl I don't know, having a plan, picking her up, taking her to dinner) ever. I couldn't eat all day, so I just paced around trying to busy myself with preparation; but it turns out there isn't that much preparation involved in taking a girl to dinner. So I just paced around, trying not to feel sick.

I found my paralyzing anxiety much more surprising than you probably do. I'm not an irrational person. I'm not even shy, really (he said to himself). I understand perfectly that I know how to have a conversation. Nothing serious. Just eat something expensive, open the door for her, and talk to her like she's a human for two or three hours. No big deal. I get that. But there's still this scared kid inside me that doesn't.

Well it was almost perfect. The Lord answers prayers, even silly adolescent ones. Had I been possessed of greater faith, I would not have lost my way to the parking garage, and then lost my way inside the parking garage (from which my date extricated us), and accidentally driven down the wrong lane on the way home when I missed our exit and had to get on the service road. Couldn't find the restaurant either. And then, even better, I had to explain to her that the prospect of asking her out actually terrified me, and I had guiltily hoped that she would be busy. That she was my first real date ever, and I was scared out of my mind.

I can't help it. I say what's on my mind, and it only gets worse when I'm nervous. So naturally I explained that to her (one of those terrible, inescapable feedback loops). But she responded like she knew the real me... recognizing that I wasn't necessarily on my A-game, and I would probably be a cool person if I could just relax. She ordered some extremely adventurous Mediterranean dish and ate the whole thing (while I thought to myself, "How can you eat at a time like this?"). I got this delicious penne pasta with italian sausage and could barely even pick at it. But other than the dumb stuff I did and said because I was nervous, it was perfect. She was funny, and she laughed when I tried to be funny, and we were honest, and had a real conversation about things that really matter.

And it's no wonder, because I found out early on that I was dealing with a professional. My new friend has been on 62 first dates (I forgot to ask whether I was number 62 or 63). She pretty much knows how this works.

At the end of the night, I completely forgot to open the car door for her (which I explained to her for the reason I've already mentioned), and walked her to her doorstep. She said, "Wow, you've never done a door scene before!"

And I said, "Wow, I guess I haven't..." and silently panicked. I had no idea what I was going to do. A kiss on the cheek or even a hug was too much, but a handshake would just be ridiculous, so I choked and just kind of... said goodbye. I thanked her for a nice night, said I'd see her at church, and just sort of... walked away. But that's better than a handshake, right?

Miraculously, my body waited until I got home to freak out; but the moment I set the keys down on the coffee table, my intestines made a fist so tight that I was up for two hours, just rolling around in the bedsheets, praying desperately and nursing a Pepto Bismol nightcap.

But she was fantastic, and I'd do it again. At church the next day I showed up late (because I got lost, again) and she came and sat by me, and sang a pretty harmony (but got the words wrong), and we chatted and it was nice. I don't really get it, but God is awfully nice to me.

--Kevin