Miss V, Hair Goddess, says, “You need to write dating advice.” Pfft, think I. What the hell would I know?
When it comes to dating, this girl is beyond novice. My last date was an affair of some sort with The Norwegian. I “dated” my husband just to keep everything in working order. But an actual date including what-to-wear frets, butterflies and a dressing drink? Over thirty years ago. Except for the dressing drink, of course.
Dressing drink, you say? It’s the drink you have while slathering on foundation and enough mascara to paint the town black. Ms. Pat, Grande Dame of Southern Charm, also insists on a dressing drink. The first time she rang her little bell and asked Michael, her butler, for her dressing drink I thought, “Girlfriend, how did you steal my pre-game all the way from Charleston?”
No matter. All the best girls start an evening out with a dressing drink. It quells the nerves and relaxes the face for expert mascara application. Even if it’s tea. Mostly it’s not. Comparison to Grande Dame Pat ends there. The day I’m found in a caftan is the day you can be sure aliens have landed. Only through body inhabitation would this girl flounce about caftan clad.
So why V, Hair Goddess, thinks me qualified for comment I’m not sure. But here goes. Her basic question is this: Is making out mandatory on a first date?
Seems our girl found herself on a great first date. Time to part ways, as any girl worth her salt does, on a first encounter. If you choose otherwise, keep it to yourself. You want to keep that Grande Dame mystery alive, non? I’m not saying don’t do it, I’m saying keep it to yourself.
There they are, in front of her Uber. He pulls her in for a kiss, then another and the show begins for the Uber driver. While making out in headlights she thinks, “Oh my gosh, I’m making out in front of an Uber driver. WTF?” Probably not what a girl should be thinking upon first kiss. Which, she says, begs the question–Is making out required on the first date?
My answer. “Why the hell would you think I would know?”
“You know everything,” says she.
Here’s what I do know. Were I swept up enough to make out, I probably wouldn’t give a crap who saw. Swept up being the sentiment. Were you swept up? Or were you drunk? If you’re worried about the Uber driver’s thoughts; less likely drunk. Drunk–you’d worry later, not in the moment, right?
“How was the kiss?” inquire I.
“Great,” says she. “It was just being lit up by Uber lights.”
Seems the answer is an easy one. You want to kiss him? Move to the side of the car. And if you’re so moved, push him up against the car. If you’re gonna make out with a stranger, might as well make it count.
So, all my single ladies: What are the dating rules? Miss V can’t be the only one who needs a rule book.
The Duchess Diaries 