He said, “I can’t wait to meet you. You seem like a lot of fun.”
I slammed half a bottle of wine before I met him at the bar. His Great Expectations fueling my Insecurity. The pressure to drink. Can I measure up?
Within five minutes he was calling me "beautiful" - and not in a Creepy Guy or Cheesy Come-on kind of way. Sometimes compliments embarrass me, but This was comfortable.
It was Saturday night after all. And I was on a date. I was also having a Good Hair Day. A girl will take that when she can get it.
Several martinis later I found myself curled up in the bathroom of this guy’s house. And he sat patiently on the other side of the door talking to me. I told him I needed a tampon so he retrieved my purse.
Alright. I’ll let him put his arms around me. It's not Beautiful. But let me just open the door.
Later, as he caressed my face, my hair no longer in the midst of a Good Day, my makeup faded, my stomach bloated from cramps, my head throbbing in gin-soaked beats, he says, “God, you’re adorable and so charming.”
In my book, that is right there next to "endearing" in How I Like To Hear A Guy Describe Me As.
So much better than Beautiful.