I want to be clear: a guided nature walk is an excellent springtime activity for birding, frogging, and turtle-ing. I highly recommend it. It’s just a terrible date.
Looking for animals involves attempting to be quiet. This dissuades conversation. Also, when the guide believes that he needs to respond to every side comment made to ensure that everyone is getting the full value of his expertise, the situation does not lend itself to small talk about what you cooked for that dinner party.
My second date with Boat Boy involved a lot of marching through the woods, punctuated with peering at invasive species. The path was so narrow that we had to walk single file, which meant that for about an hour and a half I walked in front of Boat Boy while he, I assume, stared at my ass.
But he did bring something along for me. His green eyes. Swoon.
When the walk ended I only had 15 minutes before I had to skidattle, so we sat in the grass under a tree and talked. Well, chatted. Well, took turns saying some words.
Unfortunately I found myself at the end of our second date at the same place as I was at the end of our first: having no idea if he was just nervous and a little quiet or straight-up boring. I think we talked about police paperwork.
One undeniably good outcome: I found CLIMBING TREES! I had been lamenting of late at the lack of climbing trees in Madison, but this park afforded plenty. I suddenly realized that the tree we were sitting under met such a definition, and in 10 seconds flat I was up among its branches. I had forgotten the sensation of childlike freedom that comes from climbing a tree. It was suddenly a glorious day.
Boat Boy took this opportunity on this beautiful spring day to lie back in the grass with his hands behind his head. I continued to climb around the tree and turned the subject to McCarthyism (naturally), and we exchanged two consecutive interesting statements. In a matter of moments I had scrambled down from the tree, fell to my knees beside him, and kissed him.
I take no responsibility for this! I blame the intoxicating spring day! The childlike wonder of climbing a tree! The inherent sexiness of analyzing McCarthyism! (It’s a good thing we didn’t start talking about the Cuban Missile Crisis. I might not have kept my clothes on.)
I soon heard nearby children yelling “Eeeeeeeeeew!” in my general direction, and added horrifying the kids in the park to my accomplishments for the day.
I hopped up and we picked up the conversation right where we left off. Already late, we walked back toward our respective vehicles (now discussing if Sarah Palin is creating new voters or just frenzy-ing the existing ones) and came to the inevitable and undoubtedly awkward part of The Date: the “Well, I go this way now,” “Yeah, I go that way” moment. You know this moment. Even if you’ve never experienced it, it is in every romantic comedy. Usually at this moment something wildly embarrassing happens, somebody gets kissed, or somebody gets rejected.
Having just accosted him in the grass, I was not about to do so again. Instead I turned fully toward him, let my arms relax and hang by my sides, looked him in the eye, and smiled. If there is a better way to indicate to someone that they may kiss you short of declaring “You may kiss me now,” please tell me.
So what does he do? Raises his hand to the “tootle loo” motion, took a step back while saying, “Well…so long,” and walked away.
De-NIED.
Don’t worry: the next day he asked me out for a third date. I realized that I had really left myself no option in whether or not to accept said third date. What am I going to do, say no and tell him that he bores me but had found my weak spot? That after the first kiss it’s all downhill? That the kiss was just to find out if I would want to kiss him in the future, and the answer was no?
God help me if it’s another spring day. Maybe I’ll ask him to wear sunglasses.
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