What I will never live down

Last Friday, JG and I went out The Melting Pot for yummy fondue and to give me an excuse to wear my gift-card dress. The first time we went, I forgot my then-brand-new camera and I was bound and determined to get pictures this time around. To my dismay, the dim lighting and steam everywhere made for dark, blurry shots not worth salvaging in the end. I tried to capture the shrimp with a delicious curry sauce and how our fondue forks looked in the soup, but the only good ones were the shiny menu and the amazing cookies-and-cream flambé dessert fondue. Well, if I had to pick a winner, that dessert fondue would have been up there, anyway, so it’s not a total loss.

But as delicious and fun as that dinner was, this story is not about fondue.

We went out to dinner to celebrate! Yes, to celebrate October 1 as the start of my new job, but more because that very same day marked five whole years of official coupledom. (Yay!) The thought of that much time is a little staggering — hello, 2002 was ages ago — but I really enjoy remembering when JG and I became an “us.” Rather than rehash the story, perhaps the episode of The First Date will be an entertaining tale. I’m a couple of weeks behind on this one, but life has been a little crazy.

On September 21, 2002*, JG and I had plans to go out to Iron Hill Brewery and catch The Rookie, which was the cheap movie playing that weekend at the student center. We were already best friends and the date was kind of a weird formality (at least to me), but JG wanted to do it right and pay for something. We had a great time talking, although the food was so-so, and the movie was unexpectedly entertaining for a sports movie. We talked some more as we strolled around campus. It was a very nice first date.

I wanted to get all of that out of the way since no one ever hears about the actual date because they get hung up on the part when JG came to pick me up at my dorm. He will never let me forget it.

The entrance closest to my dorm room that year was next to a rather unsavory part of the parking lot known as “The Smoking Pit.” Flanked by two dumpsters, people would sit around a little dug out area, smoke, and leave their cigarette butts for all to see and smell. I usually walked through there hurriedly, without making eye contact. JG walked through this area en route to my dorm and called up to my window.

When I came down to meet him, I saw that the smoking pit had its normal dozen or so loiterers and I was ready to make a getaway. Then I saw JG and that he had three red roses for me. And I just about died of embarrassment and said, sarcastically, what every guy likes to hear on the first date:

“I hate you.”

I don’t know why I said it! I’m a horrible person? I was falling back on a now-defunct term of endearment? I was mortified at being surprised? I was in the middle of the smoking pit? I’m not a flowers girl? Oh, it will never be enough. To this day, JG ribs me about how I told him I hated him when he “was just trying to give me a good first date.” I can only stand there and take it, feebly pointing out my hatred of surprises and that I even dried and kept one of the roses. See it there, on the shelf?

Despite that unfortunately memorable episode, I am so glad and thankful that JG stuck with me so that we could go out for fondue five years later. But this story isn’t about fondue, is it?

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* The same day as Aly and Jason’s first date! Ours was probably about 12 hours later…

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