Voodoo Dating: Warped Speed Dating
I’m pretty infamous for being on dates and being completely unaware that I’m actually on a date. The realization only truly cements itself forty-eight to seventy-two hours later with thoughts like, ‘Hmmm. I guess driving 300 miles with an illegal Australian for a quick make-out session or that twenty-four hour Hat Trick could be considered dates.’ Growing up in a Farming Community also makes for some genuinely noteworthy dates-I-may-or-may-not-have-been-on. One of my favourites takes place in a cornfield…
In Michigan’s Mid-West, we kids made our own fun. With the option to drive half an hour to forty-five minutes to see a movie, dine in an actual restaurant, or even get a cup of coffee, the lot of us frequently decided to save time and gas and explore the ‘nightlife after nine pm’ in our small (very small) town. The fact that our town acquired curbs during my college years (1995-1999) should present an idea of the ‘nightlife’ we were up against.
A good chum of mine lived down the road (a piece) and we ventured out together several times a year. (Mostly because the cut off line for Cable television ended at our houses, so we were sans an abundance of indoor activities.) One night, he called for me in his split pea green 1971 Cheville Malibu/Land Barge and we started in on his idea of a date and my idea of a non-date.
I don’t really remember what we did before we headed to his parent’s farm, but I expect it was something harmless like cruising all two miles of our main drag, visiting our High School at night (shameful!), or debating on changing the description of Land Barge to Jungle Cruiser. (Do you get where I’m going with ‘making your own fun’?) At any rate, it doesn’t matter and I don’t care because the real fun takes place in a cornfield!
Parking in said cornfield, we did the non-date gab thing, and then, totally unbeknownst to yours truly, the date portion of the evening entered Stage Left. In typical My So-Called Life (in the Mid-West) fashion, I was in mid-gab when my Pal decided the small talk was over and the making out could begin. Before he came at me, Pally attempted to lower my backrest with the completely underused & always sexified line, ‘Let’s get more comfortable’. Unfortunately for me, the Land Barge’s adjustable seats only had two options: 1. Ninety-degree angled upward & 2. Completely flat. And both of these can be attained in no more than .05 seconds.
I am not the most graceful Girl in a gilded cage, so the hilarity of me flying backwards, at warp speed, and hitting my head (bloody hard!) probably isn’t lost on anyone. What’s even more impressive was my (now) date’s remedying the situation. Having seen the amount of pain I was in, my date of course felt badly and up-righted my seat for me at once. However, the indoor speed of the Land Barge was briefly forgotten and I was soon on a return flight to the dashboard. I think taking me home came into question after that, but I believe I was in a hilarity coma and don’t accurately recall the remainder of the evening.
I did eventually recognize that my non-dates make for humourous conversations afterwards and especially with this particular Pal. In fact, one of Frothy’s new writers, Ruth, also attended a non-date date with our Pal and that, too, is a tale worth telling. Perhaps someday she’ll relate it, but until then I’ll bait you with the line, ‘He took…it out’.