A Memorable First Date

I have been married to my high school sweetheart for the past thirty-two years. We have had our ups and downs, as any married couples have.

It was around our tenth anniversary that the itch became too much. One problem with marrying your first love is that, no matter how good life is, there is always this nagging thought of “what have I missed out on?”

Luckily, it happened to both of us. If it had only been one, things likely would have ended in divorce. Neither one of us wanted to step out on the other, but the thought of the grass is always greener was raising its ugly head. We talked, and we talked. It took a good year of debate before we decided to separate and give each other the freedom to explore what else was out there. Temporarily at least.  

My husband joined a party site and met up with a group of people that frequented clubs for a good time. It was his way of blowing off some steam, sowing the wild oats he likely would have as a young man, but never really had the chance to do.

I joined a dating site and ended up chatting with a number of guys and going on a few coffee dates. 

It was there that I met Henry…not his real name but a moniker given to protect the not so innocent.

Henry was an IT consultant who had a passion for photography. We spent a couple of months chatting on the computer. He showed me his artistic side, sharing with me the photographs he was most proud of. To be honest, I can’t say that I understood it completely. A photo of a yellow pencil on a white desk didn’t really speak to me, but he thought it was one of his best. I’d regale him with funny stories about my cats. That is about as personal as things got.

My husband and I were nearing the end of our little experiment. We both came to the conclusion that the love and the friendship we had was more important than anything else in this world, and we were getting back together. Our little forays into the dating world made us realize we were perfect together and that nothing would come between us again.

It was time to tell the “friends” I had met on the internet. Most took it well, wished me luck, and moved on. Henry was different. He felt we had a connection and pleaded with me to go out to dinner with him. He told me that if we were just meant to be friends, he’d be OK with that, but that he just wanted to meet me in person.

I have a problem with hurting feelings and saying no, so after a time, I agreed to one date.

He asked me to meet him at the local Swiss Chalet, not exactly the most impressive place he could take me, but I took it as a good sign that he wasn’t out to wine and dine me. Or so I thought.

You know you’re in trouble when…

I walked into the restaurant and gave the hostess Henry’s name. She had a very strange look on her face, seemed as if she was about to say something, but instead, just shook her head and began to escort me to my table. At one point, as we neared the back, she stopped me and put her had on my arm. She then leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Do you want me to tell him that the kitchen is closed, that we’ve run out of chicken?”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what she meant.

I stammered, “No, it’s OK.”

She gave me one last, pitying look and took me to my table.

Henry stood up from his seat at the booth. Well, he didn’t have far to go to accomplish that particular feat. 

Henry’s profile said he was 6’1’’,  and his photo depicted a nice-looking young man with flowing brown locks and a glorious smile. The man standing in front of me was all of 5’, bald, and I pegged him at around sixty years of age.

I now had an idea of what the hostess was trying to tell me.

Our evening consisted of so-so food, stilted conversation, and I enjoyed two glasses of wine. In this instance, I would have had more, but I was driving.

Over dinner, I learned that Henry shared a house with five college boys, didn’t have a driver’s license, and his IT consulting consisted of phone support, reading from a script in a manual provided to him by the call centre. He only made minimum wage, but he hoped to get a raise with a supervisor’s position within the year. It turned out that Swiss Chalet was his favourite restaurant and he wanted to share his love of the quarter chicken dinner with me. He only went there on very special occasions as it was so expensive.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a snob by any means, but this wasn’t the man our chats led me to believe I was meeting.

All the way through dinner, I had the nagging feeling that I had seen him before. He looked exactly like someone, but I just couldn’t put my finger on who that could be.

The date ended, and he asked me for a kiss as we stood beside my car. I offered him my cheek and he walked off towards the bus stop, seemingly defeated.

I felt horrible, but I did not feel any connection to him, be it friendship or otherwise.

I was driving home, and the thought that I had seen him before was driving me crazy. I wracked my brain, but it just wouldn’t come to me. When it finally did, I had to pull my car over onto a side street because I was killing myself laughing. 

I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t catch my breath. Tears were streaming down my face, and I had to scramble to find a tissue in my purse so that I could see.

I sat in my car for a good ten minutes, trying to get myself under control.

The person he reminded me so much of? In fact, someone he was a dead ringer for?

Uncle Fester from the Addams Family.

Having married so young, I have not had the opportunity to go on many dates in my life. In a way, I’m glad that this one turned out to be so memorable. I will certainly never forget my brush with a date with a celebrity. Well, almost, anyway.