How far am I willing to go on a first date? Well, maybe as far as Alabang or even Tagaytay, but if he’s willing to take me out of the country, who am I to refuse? Hehe. Kidding. Okay, first things first: I have to admit that I don’t think I’ve every truly been on a first date. A first date, for me at least, is when a guy meets a girl and asks her girl to go out with him, like say for coffee or eats or a movie, and she dresses up, he picks her up, and off they go.
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Dating rules are one of the greatest mysteries next to the discovery of the fountain of youth. And if I end up with a date, which is always a challenge for me, I will definitely go as far as it takes us. My personal mantra when it comes to dating is “time is of essence”, in short, my patience is very very short, my standards are pretty much set and falling in love is definitely a decision. I act what’s on my mind rather than speak it and despise myself when I don’t.
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I haven’t gone out on a first date for so long that I don’t think I’d know what to do if I went out on one all of a sudden. I was with someone for the past four years and I’m still in the process of trying to bounce back from the breakup. (Emotional overeating is so empowering! If anything, breakups give you the license to forget exercise and stuff your face silly. Based on the formula popularized in Sex and the City, I’m allowed to pig out without guilt for two years.)
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When I was in college, I never really deviated from textbook first-date protocol: meal, movie, coffee, all followed by a yap fest of your finest qualities—two people bouncin’ to the boogie with only their best feet on the dance floor. This has to continue many more times because everyone knows that only girls with loose morals allow themselves to be kissed on the first date. I learned this in Bullshit 101.
I eventually graduated and got a job, where I one day overheard a woman recounting how her first date one night ended. Details were sketchy but I remember it was with more than a peck on the cheek. I wondered if she was a slut, because she didn’t look like one. So I asked her why she did what she did on that first date. She smiled at me and said, “Because he was Italian, and I have a libido.” Turns out she wasn’t a slut. She was the company vice-president—smart, funny, successful, approachable, with double Master’s in Economics and Modern Literature. And she had become my muse. So the first thing I did with my paycheck was buy myself a backbone, the kind that allowed me not to give a flying fffffft what my reputation would be by the water cooler. And then I discovered a secret still unknown to the nuns in my high school—that even if they confiscate your libido, IT GROWS BACK.
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And I thought Erap was hard to blog about. Haha.
This, of course, isn’t something I could claim to be an expert on since I haven’t gone on a first date in about seven years! I don’t even know what’s uso now. I’m surprised when people still bring up the subject of courtship (as in, “This guy was making me ligaw…”) because I didn’t think it still happened in this day and age. (Surprisingly, it does!)
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From the time I hated boys up until the time I loved them, I was in a Catholic all-girls school. We had scheduled weekly confessions with our resident priest, masses every first Friday, retreats and rosary marathons and very few encounters with the opposite sex. From the chaste nuns and my confused peers, I learned important guidelines on how to behave around boys I like - and still go to heaven.
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