For the sake of Paunchiness research, I did something ridiculous. I physically exerted myself on the first date. Heathen! Two reasons why this is a bad idea. One: I do not look normal when I exercise. I look like a lobster upon entry to boiling water. Two: It worries me because all I can think of is those couples who have pictures of themselves after climbing a mountain or completing a marathon, and have subscriptions to Outdoor Magazine. Those people are disgusting. As Shania Twain says, “Okay, so you’re athletic. That don’t impress me much.” (Shania Twain is my own personal hero and demi-god, and her lyrics occasionally speak to me)
So I am preparing for this “tennis date” and thinking alright, does it look like I’m trying to be precious with this tennis skirt and these pink high-tops? For any sporting event, I try to look as fierce as possible to distract from a sub-par skill set. However, since I only have the high tops, I decide to apply some mascara for added Tyra Banks fierceness. I look good.
We are playing the tennis, I am kicking ass, he has brought Gatorade, everything is wonderful. Then all the sudden there is sweat happening, and my face is hot. Still kicking ass, but a little nervy. In fifteen minutes, my eyes are burning with sweaty teardrops, and my bangs are sticking to my forehead. I curse Shania Twain’s name.
I can’t even explain how mortified I am when I return home to see my lobster face with my raccoon eyes. I look like some defeated beauty queen after a particularly grueling talent competition. It’s awful.
The lesson learned is this: Never do it on the first date. They never call you afterward.