July 29, 2009 | 9:37 pm
Posted by Ilana Angel
Have you ever had a perfect date? The kind where you feel sick to your stomach in anticipation of meeting him? Where you buy a new outfit, get your hair blown out, mani and pedi, shave your legs and don’t eat for 3 days before the big night so you’ll look perfect? The kind of date where even before it happens you are filled with hope and promise and the giddiness of a schoolgirl?
I met a great guy on JDate and we talked a few times over the course of a week. He was charming, funny, and witty with just the perfect amount of sarcasm thrown in. We were the same age, both divorced and both single parents with one child each. My son is 13 and his daughter is 12. Just perfect.
We talked a lot on the phone because we both had our kids and it was going to be a little over a week before our schedules would allow us to meet. That’s both good and bad. Good because you can get to know someone and have some deeper conversations. Bad because you build a connection with someone who you’ve never seen. We talked into the wee hours of the morning after the kids were sleeping with neither one of us wanting to hang up. We talked about forbidden subjects like politics, religion and sex. It was grown up and mature and magical and childish.
We decided to meet for dinner at a local sushi restaurant. (Did I mention that he lives in the valley too? Perfect.) I get there first and am sitting at the table when he arrives. I can see him at the front door and he looks over and smiles and does not stop staring at me as he walks over. He kisses me on the cheek, sits down and the fairytale begins. We spent a little over 3 hours at dinner. Talking and laughing and sharing. Overall, just a really great date. It sounds made up and fake. I’ve been on enough dates to know that it is rare and special.
We leave the restaurant and he walks me to my car. We’re holding hands and making plans to see each other again. I’m getting nervous because I know he will kiss me and I can’t wait. We’re standing at the car, he reaches down and holds my face with both hands and goes in for the big smooch. I try to remember to breathe, close my eyes, lean in and am hit with what can only be described as the single most disgusting kiss of my entire life. It’s full of spit and tongue and noises and licking. The kind of kiss that makes you want to pull your hair out one strand at a time. The kind of kiss where you had to choose between another one and kissing a skunk smack on the mouth with tongue, you’d take the skunk.
We went out one more time after that. Maybe I should have had iced tea instead of sake. Maybe he was nervous. Maybe I put too much pressure on myself in my head because everything was so perfect. Maybe the next time would be better. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Please God just maybe. Nope. Didn’t change second time around. Not even a little bit better. In fact, it might of actually been worse the second time around. At the end of the day there is a lot of power in a kiss. It is the most intimate of touches and can say so much and mean everything. The perfect kiss allows us, for that spectacular moment, to keep the faith.
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