FringeMan took me to a Christmas party for our first “date”. We had been to the lighting of Christmas Tree in Rockefeller Center the week after I returned from Florida, but our first official, just the two of us date, was a Christmas party. As far as first dates go, it was slightly more than typical.
FringeMan didn’t believe in taking things slowly. On the way to the Christmas party, he told me that we were stopping by his mom’s house. Meeting his parents was way more than I bargained for on a first date. Thankfully his mother was kind and didn’t bring up any ghosts of girlfriend’s past like one of his uncles did at our first meeting.
It was at a funeral that I got to meet the bulk of FringeMan’s family for the first time. His uncle, a man of stature, took my hand in his big one, greeting me with a smile that warmed his eyes and my heart. A moment later he looked at FringeMan and said, “Is she the same girl as last time?”
I certainly was not!
The warmth in my heart quickly faded as ice-daggers flew from my eyes to FringeMan’s soul.
But that wasn’t our first date. Our first date was the Christmas party with the quick stop to meet FringeMan’s parents. When we left his mom’s house I suspected that dating FringeMan would be anything but ordinary. Little did I know how quickly I should expect the unforeseen. The Christmas party proved normal unless you consider the fact we were seated at a table that included FringeMan’s ex-girlfriend. In fact, I sat right next her. Making small talk was as much fun as being bitten by a swarm of mosquitoes.
Is it any wonder that while sipping a diet coke at the Red Robin, a placed we stopped to “talk” on the way back to my house, I told FringeMan that I really didn’t want to date him right then. I wasn’t ready to be serious. Besides talking to him over a cheeseburger was like being at an inquisition and I was on trial. He played both the good cop and the bad cop trying to get me to ‘open up’, reveal my future plans, and unwrap my past from birth to present.
Equipped with too many useless facts from my psychology minor, I tried to unravel FringeMan’s thoughts, dissect his words, and peek into his heart. I left more confused than ever.
After our ill-fated first date, a day FringeMan still does not think was inappropriate, we only saw each other in church and in a few group functions; however, it was the holiday season. There were parties including a Christmas party thrown by me. I subjected FringeMan to Kenny G’s Christmas CD and then made him watch “White Christmas”. I guess you could say that I was getting even.
On New Year’s Eve FringeMan invited a whole bunch of people to his house for a little party. It wasn’t the first time I had been to his house. He once cooked venison for my cousin Jenn and I. It was my first deer. The venison was certainly easier to digest than FringeMan’s bachelor pad. He had black curtains hanging in the windows that were draped with spider web designs and his once white couch was covered in six inches of dog hair. I would later, clean for him. Actually it was more for myself than for him. If I was going to eat from his kitchen and sit on his couch, soap and a vacuum were a must.
He did clean for his New Year’s party. He actually painted the inside of his shower in case anybody peeked into it. I don’t think he’d been introduced to Scrubbing Bubbles yet. I was actually looking forward to New Year’s Eve, but I had spent the previous two days with a stomach virus, so I wasn’t in great shape and I couldn’t eat anything. I didn’t want to spend the night in the bathroom, fresh paint or not. I even had my mom bake me a pineapple dream cake to bring. Unfortunately FringeMan has a food allergy/intolerance/psychiatric disorder towards cream cheese, sour cream, and mayonnaise. The cake was laced with cream cheese and so he spent the next two days in the bathroom.
My friend Nat innocently wandered into FringeMan’s bedroom, picked up a rose sitting in a vase on his dresser and exclaimed to everyone in the house, “Oh, it’s so nice, somebody gave you a rose!”
FringeMan turned 5 shades of red and a few shades of pink. The rose was for me.
to be continued…
I know, I know, the story just won’t end. Thanks for putting up with me. For more love stories, visit Musings of a Future Pastor’s Wife.