This date will be one that I tell my grandkids about. Not because it was steamy and hot and heavy, because it was not. At all. I’m not sure I can even call it a date in the traditional sense, but nonetheless it was awesome.

Marcus. 25. Real estate.

Marcus wasn’t exactly a stranger. We had been friends for months, talking almost everyday via Twitter and Gchat, but never hung out. I suggested we go to the movies, (Law Abiding Citizen had just opened) and he agreed. No big ideas of treadmills or hot tubs. Whew! He joked that he would finally find out if I was a “good crazie or crazy crazie”. I like to think I’m a good crazie, but of course I’m biased.

Thank goodness he already bought the tickets, because I was 15 minutes late. I managed to get out, “Hey!” as I tried catching my breath. I ran 4 blocks in heels and was reminded of my unfit state. For a split second I thought, “Maybe I should have gone to the gym with Bobby.” Eh, nevermind. I needed a slushie and made a bee-line to Concessions. It would be the 2 hotdog combo meal for him.

It didn’t feel like a first meeting or like a date, for that matter. We skipped the usual play of 20 Questions, preferring a conversation between two friends. I hate to say this, but for lack of a better word, the whole thing felt very familiar. Safe. No sexual tension. No sexual attraction. Marcus is a good-looking guy, but the spark wasn’t there and I could tell he felt the same. That wasn’t the weird part. The weird thing was that we didn’t care. Neither of us took it as rejection when we didn’t get closer as the lights dimmed for the film or when goodnight was said with a half hug and New York kiss on the cheek. I don’t remember what led to this, but as we were walking to the bus stop, Marcus turned to me and said…

“In case you were wondering, yes, that is a hotdog in my pocket.”

I doubled over with laughter in the middle of the sidewalk. Marcus just stood there like, “What did I say?” Clearly, he does not have the sense of humor of a 13 year old boy, but I do and that was hilarious to me. “You said, ‘hotdog in my pocket’! That’s classic. Oh, that’s good! I’m so stealing that one!”  He explained that he didn’t mean it in a sexual way, but that he had only eaten one of his hotdogs during the movie, so the other he stashed in his pocket. I’m crying tears at this point and he’s laughing at me cackling.

When I told Gram about our date, she asked all the typical post-date questions. “Did you kiss? Did you touch hands? Did he put his arm around you?” No, nope, and nah. He treated me like a person and not like a mission to get to a second date. “Oh, well then he’s not really into you like that”, Gram said, and that was fine with me. You know a date was a success when you smile during your ride home. When you really enjoyed the other person’s company. When you tell your friends how fun he was. But the ultimate sign of a great date is when you leave with something beneficial for life. I now know the answer to a question women have asked for ages: Is that a hotdog in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

It really is a hotdog.

photo © Andrey Kiselev | Dreamstime.com