Wendy and I carpooled and arrived slightly early, making sure our blonde hairs were just so. We promptly ordered beers without waiting for Mike, who spent several frantic minutes combing the multi-caverned establishment looking for the elusive women. At one point I thought I saw him pop his head outside, but he disappeared far too quickly for me to act on the sighting.
When Mike reached his final destination, the girls were beer-saturated and happy. The conversation was comfortable and food was tasty, and goaty. While the unfortunate common ground on this triple date was divorce, we can reframe this to common ground being single, nice and normal with unfortunates for exes.
Not sure who Mike was courting, but if he’s anything like his gender, he wants all options open as long as possible. And the more juggling the better. No competition between the ladies though. Wendy and I, battered by divorce to mere inches of survival, appreciated the attention from a seemingly normal male. Well, normal despite his abrupt transition issues. We’ll get to those later.
It’s harder to judge my own shortcomings…except perhaps I talked too much, or laughed too much at my own tragic stories. It’s always so much easier to point out the shortcomings of others, so I will. With the SoCal frigid night chill afloat in the air, the triples decided a move to the fire pit would be beneficial. Mike, on his 14th trip to the restroom, volunteered to go reserve a vacant pit. Upon his return to the table, he apparently forgot his commitment (not an uncommon male trait) and left the girls high, dry and freezing.
Later, when all freezing triples ambled stiff-legged and freezer-burned into the fireplace room (amend that: Wendy and I sought fire while Mike again visited the “restroom”) warmth on the date resumed. Goodbye. And this is where the abrupt transition happened. Apparently Mike had reached his date capacity for the evening. He politely thanked the blondes, thinking aloud “brunettes are more fun” and he disappeared into the night.
The girls, startled but rapidly regaining composure (after all, they’ve been trained by the biggest startle of all: discovering a secretly cheating spouse), looked at each other in mock surprise, said “should we stay or should we go now” (sung to the tune of The Clash) and decided jointly to retire to their separate beds for the evening.
An uneventful date, all in all. But one that may be resurrected if the three participants are unable to find anything better to do with their 50/50 custody time going forward.