Kiss on first date?

Yay or nay.

I look at my room, clothes strewn across the bed, shoes spilling out of the closet door. Ever since I decided to finally start living for the plot, my previously predictable routine of work, home, and the occasional hangout I’d wedge in as an afterthought has given way to something far more spontaneous.

Tonight, I’m going on a date with the guy I met at a diner I’d treated myself to a few weeks back. I never imagined I’d be here because he isn’t exactly my type, but here I am.

The plot thickens.

Photo by Ashley Piszek on Unsplash

I coat my lashes with mascara one last time after setting my soft glam look with a finishing spray. One thing I’ve decided to do on these datescapades is simply have fun, and maybe collect a few stories to tell my grandkids someday. I’m not going in empty-headed, just without a mountain of expectations weighing me down, but maybe some non-negotiables. First things first: his physical appearance. I’m not expecting a Michael B. Jordan physique or anything close because that might be asking for too much. Just look decent. That’s it. That’s all I’m asking. This guy at least ticked that box quite nicely, which is largely why we’re here. Now, if he shows up with flowers on this first date, he scores some points even though there’s technically no scoreboard. But if he brings flowers on our third date (if we make it that far), he loses some. By then, he should know flowers aren’t really my thing. I know plenty of women adore them, and I find that genuinely cute, it’s just not something I gush over. Books, though? Now we’re talking. I think the original intention behind giving flowers was to signal a conscious, deliberate effort toward someone. A proof of thought. But that gesture shouldn’t be generalized across every woman who walks through your door. Flowers are a sweet gesture, no doubt, but they shouldn’t become a shortcut that masks the real effort you put into yourself: emotionally, mentally, and physically. I love the idea of flowers. The token itself, though, doesn’t always have to be flowers.

Photo by Chermiti Mohamed on Unsplash

If his idea of a first date is a cute restaurant — good food, good conversation, getting to know each other — that’s perfectly generic and practical, and honestly, it’s the safest bet. No complaints there. But if we make it to a second date and he still hasn’t clocked that sit-down dinner dates aren’t really my thing, we have a problem. I’m more of an amusement park, beaches, art galleries, and a cool spot to eat kind of girl. Not a Michelin star restaurant, just somewhere with good food and a menu I don’t have to bite my tongue trying to pronounce. If that memo doesn’t land by date two, there simply won’t be a date three. This isn’t an assessment, even though it sounds like it is, though. A first date is trial and error, but the second is supposed to be heading somewhere, at least for me. And to be fair, this goes both ways. If I can’t remember a single thing he mentioned he liked or something he enjoys doing, I’m saving us both the stress by not accepting a second date. I’m here for the plot, but there still has to be a storyline. We are absolutely not doing an unrecoverable cliffhanger. On the subject of kissing: I don’t believe in using a first date kiss to grade how the date went. We have words. Use them. As much as I am, at my core, a rom-com girl, I’ve also watched enough of those same rom-coms to know that physical things have a way of clouding judgement, and clouded judgement has a way of accelerating timelines nobody agreed to. If we kiss on the first date, he might be expecting something else by the third, and no, that is not happening. Like I said, this is for the plot. And this plot cannot be pregnant. You know what, I think I’ll just see how tonight unfolds, and when I get back, I’m setting up my Hinge profile. Because what is the point of collecting experiences and living for the plot if you don’t have a Hinge feature to show for it? That’s not a life lived; that’s just content without distribution.

Photo by Good Faces Agency on Unsplash

I sweep one last look around my room, slip on my heels, grab my handbag, and walk out just as the doorbell rings. It’s showtime.

This is the first part of the story, and I can’t wait to see how this story unfolds through other writers. I’ll be tagging Esther Katrinez, Aziza, gwyn ༊*·˚ for the next part.

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