In honor of my new smoking hot red patent leather go-go boots I am introducing a series of posts entitled the Red Boot Diaries. Think of them as GYNO dating tips, because I care deeply about you all and hope that you might one day profit from my
mistakes wealth of experience. And a big thanks to the good Dr. Djuricich (@MedPedsDoctor) for the idea, because he said I needed to find 1000 uses for these boots and blog about them. Trust me, I have 1000+ dating tips (mostly “don’ts,” but hey some people, meaning me, would argue those are more important than the dating “do’s”).
It’s especially hard when meeting a guy sight unseen (typically Internet dating, but this advice could also apply to that quaint relic, the blind date). You know the situation I’m talking about. You’ve e-mailed a few times. You’ve found out his ideal vacation is a cottage by the sea and the person who inspired him the most was his 5th grade math teacher. So during a late night of e-mailing, after (possibly) the 3rd glass of wine, you agree to meet. To put yourself out there and hope that, well, uh, that maybe this will be the guy who “gets” you in all the right ways who hopefully doesn’t: A) sport a Disney tattoo or two and/or B) have a stack of bodies in the basement.
I’ve had a lot of these kind of first dates. With some guys I knew before we sat down that there was a scant chance I’d choke down the salad, never mind see him again. But I’ll admit, I’m quick to judge.
What if I was wrong to mumble, “I never eat dessert,” implying my restraint belied my attempts to keep my girlish figure in check, when really I was blinking morse code to the waitress: bring-check-now-will-slip-you-twenty-on-way-out. Over. Because, dear God, I’m 45-years-old and if you think I’m spending one more second of the precious few I have remaining on your green earth with this troll, well, you’re kidding the troops.
But what if my snap judgements were wrong? I mean it’s not really keeping me up at night or anything, but wouldn’t it be nice to have some way for us girls to tell right off the bat if there is any hope for redemption, or if we should just say, “Here’s a quarter kid, go buy yourself a clue.”
Bouncing this idea off a friend, an amazing conversation starter was born (it was mostly his idea, but I’m taking full credit). A name tag that gets a very important card on the table. A name tag that tells us ladies that perhaps we should split a calamari appetizer and possibly linger over a chocolate torte because maybe, just maybe, this guy has a little more depth than the others.
Because while there may be a #penisFriday on Twitter, in real life every day is about the vagina.