The last first date.*

God knows, I've been on a million first dates. I'd gotten so good at it that it surprised me how nervous I was for the last first date. (*Last, as in, most recent.) The guy is a friend of a friend, and I knew this friend-of-a-friend only casually as a well-respected professional in his field. He didn't live in the same town, so I would have to drive two hours to meet up with him for a date, which he planned and told me only to bring my swimsuit and a pair of crummy shorts and to be ready for "everything."

I feel like I'm generally well-prepared for events in my life, but what does it mean to be prepared for "everything" on a first date? Bring a passport? A shovel? A Taser? I didn't know where we were going or what we'd be doing, although I had some guesses since I was told to bring a swimsuit, but the crummy shorts suggestion was throwing me off. I hate not being in control.

My experience with first dates has taught me to show up, first of all, with myself, and beyond that, I shouldn't try too hard, because it's just too much work. I also know better than to reveal personal information on a first date, and I would never go to a man's house on a first date. But respecting this man as a professional and feeling like the background checks had already been done, I decided to ignore the nagging concerns.

So I showed up at the guy's door, and he told me to put on the swimsuit and crummy shorts. "Where are we going?" I asked. "It's a surprise," he said. So I dressed in my swimsuit, but upon seeing my crummy shorts, my date decided they weren't crummy enough, so he loaned me a pair of his own crummy khaki shorts. Excellent. So within moments of entering his house, I'd gotten in his pants. A good start, I'd say.

We hop into his car and head down the road, to a destination still unknown to me. He drives beyond the area I'm familiar with in the town, and as the houses and businesses grow fewer and fewer, and as the forest grows thicker, I wonder if I shouldn't worry. Why didn't I bring the Taser?! I scold myself.

He pulls the car to the side of the road next to a field which contains a 2/3 size replica of Stonehenge. We walk around the "stones" (composed of concrete and rebar), amazed at this display of kitschy Texas crap at its best. Visiting Stonehenge didn't necessitate a swimsuit, of course, but he said it was just an interesting thing to see. We return to the car and head back down the road, and I still don't know where we're going. Alright.

He pulls the car into a parking lot of a shopping center, across the street from where the Guadalupe River is rushing past. We get out of the car and begin walking toward the river. I see kids playing in the water, some young adults holding longnecks and smoking cigarettes. Water is rushing over a concrete dam, down a slope about 20 feet long. This is when my date, J. (of course I'm not going to publish his real name, so I'll just call him by his first initial), announces, "We're going to slide down the dam."

"No, we're not," I said, "but you have a good time." He insisted I'd be sliding down this concrete slope, but I thought simply swimming in the water was a fine compromise. So we jumped into the deep water, safely away from where the water was spilling over the side. "Look how beautiful it is!" I said. "Like swimming in an infinity-edge pool! There's no need to slide down the dam!" J. maintained that sliding was imminent. I continued to disagree. So we swam and chatted and watched the kids playing.

Finally, J. decided it was time, so we walked across the dam. I asked him to slide first, so I could at least watch and see how it's done. He refused, saying that he was afraid I'd take his car keys and leave him there (which I hadn't actually considered, but suddenly didn't seem like such a bad idea). He told me where to sit on the edge, in the slick mossy path, where I'd slide really fast. Speed frightens me, and since I hadn't seen anyone do this, I couldn't be sure how fast I'd go. A kid waltzed past me, perched on the edge of the dam, then scooted himself into the sliding pathway and shot down the slope and into the water. The water was shallow at the bottom, so he walked over to where a knotted rope lay, which he grabbed to help him walk up the dry part of the slope back to the top of the dam. Watching me as I stood paralyzed, the kid brushed past me, saying, "If a ten-year old can do it, so can you." I wasn't gonna get told by a ten-year old, so I sat on the edge of the dam and prepared to slide. Suddenly it looked scarier than I anticipated, so I asked J. to go with me. He sat next to me, and we both slide at the same time. I immediately understood the need for crummy shorts. I shot ahead, but J. got hung up on some rough concrete. I'm pretty sure I screamed as I reached the water, and J., who'd scooted himself into the same path I'd just traveled, landed almost on top of me, and then another really large man landed almost on top of him.

In the confusion at the bottom of the dam, I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Mascara everywhere, covered in smelly river water...all my preparation, all my hopes of looking cute on this first date, well, it was no longer an option. Standing in the shallow water, I looked up at J., who was also laughing, but also kind of frowning at the same time. It was a strange expression he wore as he looked down at me...and it was then that I noticed my bathing suit top had come down, revealing at least half of my nipple. Fantastic. First-date wardrobe malfunction. There's no recovering from that.

Walking back to the car, I commended J. for his creativity and his patience with the dam-sliding activity. "Nice work on finding a way to see my boobs on a first date," I said.

"Yeah," he said. "That worked out even better than I thought!"

Folks, it doesn't get any better than this. It's all downhill from here.