This is the sequel to “What to Do On A Date” — I think Kay grew up to be Helen Gurley Brown! The move of making him get the book down from the high shelf of the locker? Classic!
“A baseball game. A date that isn’t too involved, one you can carry through comfortably” What To Do On a Date (1951)
I know literally three things about baseball: 1) It’s played with a ball, 2) There are bases involved and 3) That if you lose, you get ice cream and if you win, you get Pizza Hut. This vast knowledge was culled from three years of pee-wee softball where my coach, Doreen, would sit down on a splitering, lead-painted bench, fire up an unfiltered Kool, gather us girls around and, in between inhales which she kindly directed right into our eight-year-old faces, tell us to get out there and play without ever actually, you know, teaching us how to play. Needless to say, Becker’s softball team never saw the inside of a Pizza Hut.
But apparently, a ball game is a fun date, and Mike has been anxious to see the Oneonta Outlaws play, so we did. Mike is and always has been one of my favorite boy friends because he, having known me for nearly a decade, has figured out (more or less) how to treat me, like complimenting my skull earrings and paying for things. I remembered too late that he liked the blue eyeliner I was wearing on our last date to the drive-in, or else I would have worn it for him.
Currently NY is experience temperatures not unlike the inside of a slow cooker. It’s hot, it’s damp and it’s sunny, but the sunscreen merely lays on top of your skin like an extra layer, only unlike your cotton sundress or tee-shirt, you can’t sweat through it. Miserable conditions for a ballgame, but we’d been trying to schedule this for three weeks now and we weren’t going to let nuclear sunlight drive us away from our date.
Mike knows tons and tons and tons about baseball. He’s a Yankees fan, and the only non-jerk male Yankees fan I know, so throughout the game, he would explain stats and tell me about awesome plays he saw on YouTube. We sat in the shaded deck and then, later, in one of the empty box seats to watch the Outlaws completely blow a game against the not-much-better Syracuse Salt Cats in the first game of their double-header in what was mostly an ongoing display of Beckers-esq incompetence. (They won the second game, but I’m not sure what that does for the ice cream/pizza roster).
What was nice about the game was the relaxed atmosphere. We could have drinks and chit-chat and keep an eye on the game and cheer when one of our players did something good, but it lacked the intensity of professional sports, where you’re crowded in with superfans screaming in your ears. Plus, I also got to follow Arlene Dahl’s advice about drawing out his ideas, which I think Mike enjoyed. And making sure your partner enjoys the date is, according to the short, one of the fundamentals of dating!
So maybe next time we’ll go to a weenie roast . . . or fix up a scavenger sale!
“The destinies of nations have been altered . . . by the flutter of a fan. Why not revive these delightful customs of the past to stimulate romance?” Arlene Dahl, Always Ask a Man
I’ve always loved the image of Southern women gently fanning themselves in a warmly-lit church or on a porch, so I dug out a lovely bamboo fan Ian gave me a few years ago, and with the weather as hot as it has been, I’ve really been using it! At work, it gave me something to fiddle with while I thought through a difficult article or pay layout, a quiet pause in the day to contemplate.
Arlene has a wonderful diagram of ways a fan can be used to
communicate. I tried some of these out on a certain older bachelor I know, but if he noticed, he didn’t say anything. But either way, it kept me cool!
“When we were first dating, he said to me, “Get into something slinky black. We’re going over to meet my friends Jackie and Ernest.” Naturally I wanted Jackie and Ernest to like me, so I got right into something slinky and black. Well, everybody was out by the pool in wet swimsuits and faded denims and there I was–Vampira at high noon.” Helen Gurley Brown, Sex and the Single Girl
Ian and I haven’t been out to a nice dinner in awhile, and we had a few things to celebrate under the auspice of our 7 1/2 year anniversary. I also haven’t gotten dressed up since New Years, and one the things this project has really gotten me back into is LOOKING FINE. I was just going to wear my LBD, but one accessory lead to another, and soon I was wearing a hat, dark lipstick, a scarf and a pair of my grandma’s white gloves. Ian was wearing shorts and a black button down. He looked at me, lets out a sigh and went back upstairs. I was overdressed, and it was cramping his style.
Like HGB illustrates, being overdressed next to your mate can make all parties uncomfortable. Ian’s reasoning for not wanting to get dressed up was that it was hot and muggy, and he’d be miserable, ruining the whole evening. And I understood that. He apologized for groaning at my outfit, put on black pants and a black shirt, I took off the gloves and we went to Jay’s Place (our favorite) for a lovely time. And it was air conditioned, so he was comfortable even in long pants.
Maybe we were a little overdressed for the occasion, but we didn’t care. I like to think it added an air of mystery to us, so that other diners wondered what fancy party we’d just come from . . .