I felt like a million bucks.

I know you all are dying to know how the date went.  I’m going to write about it here, in the most general of terms.  This blog is about my life.  The man I went out with last night?  Didn’t sign on to have his life, any part of his life, splashed all over the internet.  So in the interest of answering your questions, and protecting his privacy?  This is the best you’re going to get.

So, last night? Was Date Night.  My first real date in I don’t know how long.  Nervous?  Doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Although I shouldn’t have been nervous.  We’ve known each other for years, but had never dated.  He was nervous too, even though he’ll deny it.

There’s no way to write this without it sounding like a play by play.  First we did this, then we went here, and we did that, we ate, we talked, we walked around Bass Pro Shoppe.  (Shut up. I hate to fish, I hate to hunt, but I LOVE me some Bass Pro Shoppe.  I know I’m weird.)  We went to Dave and Busters. Along with half of Illinois and most of St. Louis apparently.  That place? Was packed.  But what can you expect for a Saturday night?

The date itself? It was delicious steak and mashed potatoes along with a few rum and cokes.  What made it the best date?  He opened doors for me.  Not just the doors to the restaurant, but my door when we got into the truck.  Every. Single. Time.  Opened the door, held my hand, always walked to the traffic side of the sidewalk.  We talked, we laughed, and had a blast.    It wasn’t a fancy date, but I’m not a fancy person.  I’m good with blue jeans, sweater, and stilettos.

He made me feel safe, and special, and like a million bucks.  I mattered.  He told me I’m beautiful, and for a second? I believed him.  He genuinely wanted to be with me.  And that?

Is golden.