I wasn’t allowed to date until I was 16 years old. Back then, I felt like I was practically an old maid.
Now, uh, that’s not to say that I didn’t “sleepover at a friend’s house” a time or two. If ya know what I mean. *wink wink*
But that’s neither here nor there. This is about my first official date that my parents knew about, when the guy picked up me up at my house, met my parents, and all that jazz. I shall call him PJ.
PJ was from out of town, and he was my friend Mandy’s cousin. We had known each other, through Mandy, for a couple years. He was visiting her during that summer, and after a lot of procrastination, he finally asked me out. Once I cleared it with the ‘rents, we were all set for a dinner and movie date.
The date almost didn’t happen, thanks to my meddling little brother and his friend. They didn’t like PJ, although in those days very few guys I liked met with their approval. Think: cut phone lines and telling me that PJ had suddenly had to go home and was too chicken to tell me our date was off. Luckily, PJ figured out what they were doing, and my brother and his friend almost got murdered when I found out.
PJ drove an old Ford Escort. Well, I say it was old. It might not have been, I really don’t remember…this was back in 1993 after all. I want to say that his car was white. Obviously, it didn’t make *that* much of an impression on me. On the evening of our date, PJ arrived at my house, and met my mom while I finished getting ready.
She came back to my room to tell me that he was here. She was laughing. I don’t mean just a little bitty, something’s got her tickled laugh…I’m talking full on hysterical, almost maniacal laughter. A few minutes later, I discovered the reason for her laughter…
PJ had, well, dressed up for our date. He was wearing a navy blue shirt with large white polka dots, and baggy, purple jeans. I repeat, purple jeans. Bright purple jeans.
Oh my stars…I mean, polka dots. Now you all know why I am calling him PJ.
Really and truly, it was a little sweet that he’d shown up dressed this way. He knew my favorite color was purple, and that I had a thing for all things polka dotty. So I know he was just trying to make a good impression.
An impression he made, alright, but I can’t say it was necessarily a good one! I stifled the laughter that threatened to erupt from within me, we got in his car, and headed off for our date. As long as I didn’t look at him too much, things were good…
PJ’s favorite songs at the time were Insane in The Membrane (Cypress Hill) and Jump Around (House of Pain). He had a “system” hooked up that cost way more than the car itself. You could always hear PJ coming about a mile before you ever saw his car. That night, I thought that little Escort was going to fall apart right in the highway from all the shaking and bumping.
We spent over an hour in Pizza Hut, because they were super busy and it took forever to get our pizza. That was some of the most painful conversation (or the lack thereof) I’ve ever had in my life. There was much staring out the window at the passing cars during that hour. No one looking at us would ever have been able to tell that we’d known each other before that night, that’s how awkward it was.
Aaaand then we went to see the movie Coneheads. Yeah, anybody remember that gem of a flick? Enough said.
That date didn’t even end with a kiss at the front door. It ended with the closing of an Escort door.
PJ and I really didn’t talk much after that. There definitely wasn’t a second date! JB and I did end up sitting right behind him at Mandy’s wedding a few years later, and we at least said hello to each other.
For the record, I still get teased about my date showing up in purple jeans to this day.
[This post was inspired by this week’s prompt: Describe the first date you went on in a boy’s car.]