under Date Night
I assume that everybody experiences a certain degree of anxiety before a date. That is, unless they are models who are dead inside. If you fall under the first category, it is difficult to overcome. People tell you to not think about it, but that’s all you think about it. This is why I propose that I have nothing to propose. I really don’t know what to do here. You don’t want to be nervous for three days.
Here is one suggestion: Cancel the date two nights before it occurs. The next day, ask if you can un-cancel it. This may make the date feel like he/she has a second chance with you. This is leverage in your favor. Now you are in charge, and can dictate the date based on the premise that your date is not in control of you, when in reality, he/she probably is. Now that you have falsely convinced yourself that you are in control, your counterfeit confidence can be used in your favor. Silences in between conversations are no longer ‘awkward pauses.’ They are now ‘power silences.’ Don’t even think about what to talk about next. Let your date do this. Therefore, not only will you not feel awkward, but you will let your date talk, letting him/her speak his/her mind.
At the end of the date, don’t go in for a kiss. Don’t even try to hug. Simply say “goodbye” and see what happens. If he/she wants to kiss you, he/she will. If not, there will probably not be another date, and you don’t have to worry about calling your date back. Power silences are the only way to excellence.
under Date Night
The worst part of a date, or any general social interaction, is the awkward silence that ensues whenever a conversation is not occurring. The silence often follows a statement that was ill-conceived or overly emotional. For example, I say, “I hear the chicken is good” to which you reply, “Chickens are often malnourished and crammed into small spaces before they are killed to be eaten.” Following twenty minutes of dead air, I say, “How about the steak?”
The previous conversation has never happened, but the following has: “So how is law school, Melissa?” Melissa looks at me without saying anything. Though this silence was fleeting and probably lasted ten seconds, it felt like three hours. I had no idea what I did wrong. Melissa finally answered with a clever little quip, “I am in med school and my name is Rebecca.” I felt really bad, but seriously, I had already met like seven girls named Melissa whom are all currently attending law school. By the time I met the fifth Melissa, I just assumed…
It was a good assumption, because it is very close to the truth.
“So Rebecca, I hear the chicken is good,” I say. I did not know, nor was I prepared for the fact that she had dissected a chicken earlier that day. Instead of giving me the usual PETA-inspired diatribe about abused chickens, she replies in horrific detail what the inside of a chicken looks like. I thought that I already knew what the inside of a chicken looked like: Sometimes it looks like a grilled breast, while other times it looks somewhat like a fried wing. Astoundingly, this is not what the inside of a raw chicken looks like at all. She then started showing me pictures of this poor chicken on her cell phone. This was after we had already gotten our food. Rebecca’s chicken looked far worse and only somewhat delectable. Thank goodness I got spaghetti. Spaghetti is often a safe go-to food because not only have noodles and sauce rarely been abused, but if the .083% chance arises where your date shows you pictures of a mutilated animal, there is a very good chance that that animal is not on your plate.