Soap Opera Sunday - College Two

So there I was, finally talking to cute boy. (Part one is here.) After all of his reluctance to approach me, I had been prepared to engineer the conversation. To keep it going. To make sure there were no awkward silences. I was ready to sparkle, dammit.

But I didn't have to. John and I had a lot to talk about, it seemed. Or maybe we were just exceptionally good at flirting with one another. Anyway, I discovered that he was a senior at Dartmouth and was in Boston for a sailing meet (match? All I know was that it hadn't been a big regatta). When the lights came on, we strolled out into the street. He asked if he could walk me home. After signaling to Sherry that she and Karen and Bill should keep an eye out for me, I let John walk me the three blocks home (not as dangerous as it sounds, the two streets we had to walk on were literally filled with other students, my friends would be watching while they walked home and my gut said he was harmless).

When we got to my stoop, I waited for him to try and kiss me. (Believe it or not, my college dating experiences were rather limited. After having the same boyfriend for freshman and sophomore years, I had spent most of my junior year having crushes. And getting hit on by way too aggressive guys at clubs and parties. Mostly I flirted with my friend Lewis and slightly encouraged Monos - who, it turns out, was an actual Greek shipping heir - without ever actually going on a date with him. John was the first boy I'd ever let walk me home that I didn't already know. And the first one I'd actually wanted to kiss.)

But John was a perfect gentleman. When he didn't at least ask for my phone number, I was depressed. I assumed that I'd misinterpreted all the signals. I ate ice cream for breakfast the next morning.

I was completely shocked when John called me two days later. Apparently he'd had a friend who went to BU look me up in the directory (ah, those days before the internet). He was such a preppie that asking me for number was too tacky for him. Or something. Whatever - I was totally thrilled.

He asked me out for the weekend after next and I said yes. When I told my roommate about it, she exclaimed, "You mean he's borrowing a car and driving two hours just take you out?" I hadn't thought about it that way - I was just thrilled to have a date. I nodded. "That is wicked cool! He must really like you."

The date was very nice. We went out to dinner and to see the movie The Player (if you've never seen it, it was Robert Altman's best movie, I think). There was some hand-holding. We talked about politics (we were both neo-hippie liberals) and music (grunge - it was 1992). He drove me home.

And still he didn't even try to kiss me.

For more soapy goodness, please check out brilliant Brillig's blog.