Ask and Ye Shall Recieve (Eventually) Part Une

Perhaps it's a case of being careful what you ask for.  Because if I recall.  If I recall correctly.  It was me.  Recently talking about how I want dates to take me "out to do fun things".  And it was also me.  Lamenting against boys who "a. kiss me in public" and "b. pounce way too soon."  And here I am.  Getting exactly what I asked for.  Trucker Joe.  Taking me on active dates.  Not kissing in public.  No pouncing. 

So the weekend passes in fabulous fashion and Tuesday arrives.  Trucker Joe and I have our 3rd date.

Detour.
This is my first 3rd date since I started this rollercoaster of awesome sauce where I am the SHE in the scenario of the Somethings She Dated.  Just Sayin'.  Take notes.  This will be on the exam.

Back on Track.
I have dually noted all the advice about him likely being shy and how I should just make the move.  So we meet and I hop into his big truck again.  And we're off to the driving range.  It's hot.  The temperature I mean.  It's so fucking hot and humid that I swear my shins are sweating.  And by swear I mean.  I look down and there actually fucking sweating.  Okay.  More likely it's a combo of moisturizing and fucking humidity (it's hot and the ocean is moments away.  Just Sayin').  Oh and here's some more awesome.  Turns out.  You (and by you I mean me) sweat a lot when hitting golf balls.  All that bending over and trying not to show your goodies and thank god you wore shorts under your mini skirt and why are you wearing a mini skirt to hit golf balls? and its because nothing fits with all the weightloss and fuck he's seen the rest of your outfits that do fit and keeping your boobs in your bra and putting the ball on the tee and trying to look cute and hitting the ball and trying not to be a total spazz.  That shit takes effort.  I mean like excuse yourself to go to the loo and towel off effort.  But here's the redeemer.  He's sweating too.  But in a very manly sexy way.  And well.  He appears to not even notice my sweat.  Whether because he's a gentleman or just thinks I'm sexy doing whatever.  Doesn't matter.  Because it's awesome. 

And PS...I'm not so great at golf.  Putting balls in my mouth?  sure.  I'm a rockstar.  But whacking balls in a straight line hundreds of metres away.  hmm.  not so much.  But this works out perfectly because I was planning to be all could you show me how and aren't I demure and cute and teach me something instructor hottie ooh just like this?  So I didn't even have to fake it.  Because I needed the instruction.  Apparently my boobs will be preventing me from becoming Tiger's newest competition (and aid me in becoming his newest conquest...jokes).  But I'm not going to lie.  I'm glad he was noticing.  Score one for he's attracted to me and is just shy.

Golf is over.  He suggests coffee.  And I know you're probably thinking.  Why not drinks?  Because I haven't sipped the sauce in going on 2 years and 8 months now.  That's why.  We get coffee.  I make no reach for the wallet.  I made no reach earlier at the driving range.  I'm not going to lie.  At $45 for a pedi, cost of makeup, hair products, perfume, shaving, waxing, special underoos, expensive lip gloss, and the fact that I'm likely (TMI WARNING) to put his dick in my mouth long before I let him put my lady bits in his.  And I think I deserve at least a couple coffees.  Just Sayin'.  I mean shit.  I'm not buying Gin, Water, Limes.

The thing is though.  Starbucks is closing.  It's only 830pm.  Guess we chose the wrong one.  But no biggie.  We sit outside.  And for those in the White Rock area.  Go ahead and leave your doors unlocked.  Clearly not a high crime area.  They leave the patio furniture out.  Unlocked.  All night long.  Bizarre.  Anyways.  We sit and chat for like 2 hours.  It's cute.  It's adorable.  It's interesting.  I have my legs positioned in the sexiest (read slimmest and most toned) viewing angle the whole time.  Just Sayin'.

But then the mosquitoes come.  So we leave.  Back to my car.  And that's when...


Wait for it.


Wait for it.


Nope...Still wait for it.


We hug.  Shut The Fuck Up?!!?!  I hear you say.  And I know.  I sat there.  Thinking.  Do it.  Do it.  Fucking lean over and kiss him.  Hold his hand.  Fuck.  Do.  Something.  DO.  Something.  Do SOMETHING!

But alas.  I'm chicken shit.  And it became abundantly clear that I am inexperienced in the laying of the mac down.  Here I thought I was a pro.  But maybe I was drunk.  Or maybe I've just never really done it before (which seems most likely).  But the boys just always beat me to the punch.  I've never needed to.  I think ever.  So I get in my car.  And drive home.  An awesome date.  But no kiss.   no kiss.  no kiss.  seriously?  no kiss.


To Be Continued...In Part Two...Ask and Ye Shall Recieve (Eventually) Part Deux