Groupie For a Night
I can’t say I’ve gone on a lot of dates, or maybe I’ve just been in such a great relationship for so long that the dating horror stories of yesteryear don’t seem to matter anymore. So it’s kind of hard to write about The Worst Date of My Life. I think I’ve been lucky in the sense that my not-so-good dates were still OK compared to what other people have had to endure. There was that bad sort-of date where my ex and I broke up (well, more of “cooled off.” Whatever. Do people still do that?). And that date when I was in my room getting ready, literally in tears because I REALLY didn’t want to go out with the guy waiting for me (while I was on the phone with the guy I actually wanted to go out with)—nope, it wasn’t a blind date. In fact, he was my best friend. Er, long story!
And then there was that date where I swore never to go out with a rock star again.
So I agreed to go out with this guy who was part of an up-and-coming band. He had a gig, he said, and it’d be great if I could be there. So he picked me up and we went to the gig venue…where he promptly deposited me in one corner, leaving me all alone. I didn’t know anyone there, nor did I want to mingle—it was a high school dance or something, and getting to know underage boys was not on my to-do list that night! The music was good, Mr. Date was good—just not at being a date. Did he bring me there to marvel at his musical ability? To scream as his band played on? To get up and dance by myself? I wasn’t a date. I was a groupie!
To be fair, he did take me somewhere nice after the gig, and we did have fun. And we hung out a bit after that night. I think some people thought things were progressing between us. But let’s just say that in the end, we weren’t meant to make beautiful music together!