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The Third Date

August 4, 2010

My parents always told me one of their favorite stories from when they were first married. They were driving somewhere and my father asked my mother if she wanted to stop and grab a bite to eat at Howard Johnson.
“I’m not eating there. They have plastic food.” She said.
After a little finessing they pulled into Howard Johnson and grabbed a table. My mother got up to use the restroom, which is when my father called the waitress over.
“Excuse me. When my wife returns to the table, please ask her if she would like the real rolls, or the plastic rolls.”
She did just that, and my mom fell for it.

On my first date with Anthony, over cocktails and raw fish, the topic of sex came up. Naturally. We were discussing when sex should take place for the first time. On what date, were we guessing, would the magic happen, as they say on MTV cribs, which probably isn’t even on anymore. I have just dated myself.
“Third date!” He announced, as though it were written in concrete somewhere, in some man cave in a faraway land. He may or may not have grunted a beastly grunt as he said it.
“That is so cliché!”, I said, “Seventh!”
“Seventh?! No way. That’s crazy”
“Fine, you just upped it to eleven”
We laughed. It became an inside joke with us. We would negotiate how many dates until we sealed the deal. Or the deal of the moment at least.
On our second date we discussed possibly moving it from the eleventh to the eighth. It was going well and I wasn’t falling off furniture or holding him hostage.

We met at a restaurant downtown and I brought a condom with me. Nooo, not for sex, but to play a pretty good prank on Anthony, Mr. Sex on the third date. Inspired by my parents Howard Johnson story, I excused myself from the table while we were eating to use the restroom.
While there, I flagged down an innocent unsuspecting waiter. I wrapped the condom in a cloth napkin and asked the waiter to deliver this package to us at the table on a plate. Plated, if you will. He was to announce, as he delivered the plate,
“In the event that this is your third date, this is compliments of the restaurant.”
The funny thing was, the restaurant had offered us so many random things that night, that a visit from a waiter offering us complimentary goods of any kind was not completely off base. So far they had offered us hot towels, cold towels, mint towels, a shoe shine and possibly a happy ending, but don’t quote me on that.

I sat down back down with Anthony and we continued to eat when I see the waiter approaching out of the corner of my eye. He presents us with the plate and says exactly what it is that we had rehearsed,
“In the event that this is your third date, this is compliments of the restaurant.”
“Did he just say ‘if this is your third date?'” Anthony said, shocked.
“I think so!” (Faux gasp), “What do you think it is?!”
“No idea.” Anthony said, skeptical of the folded napkin.
I opened the napkin delicately and out came the condom (wrapped). Anthony had a million dollar look of confusion on his face. Anthony fell for it. Poor Anthony. I told him it was me. Anthony said it was the greatest story, which unfortunately he could not share with his friends, as it didn’t result in sex of any kind. We laughed. Anthony didn’t get to use the condom that night, as it was only our third date. But he said he would save it for the eleventh. Or the 8th. Whatever I wanted it to be.

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4 Comments leave one →
  1. August 4, 2010 8:41 am

    I’m a sucker for a good date story Darcy, and this one was just great.

    • August 4, 2010 8:48 am

      Thank you so so much! And thank you for reading and commenting! It was a great story. Stay tuned!

  2. StewieJT permalink
    August 4, 2010 9:02 am

    Hi Darcy – Nice story. Just started blogging myself as I had a few attempts at humourous articles (one from a London newspaper that has now closed – not my fault!), so please check out Stewie On Life on Word Press and let me know what you think!

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