Please, Please, Please Let me get what I want

Well, folks, I've finally done it--taken a step out of my comfort zone, to embrace the new, confident, impulsive Rachel--for better or worse. Actually, that's a lie. My coworker, Jacob, took the step for me, and we're still waiting to see how it turns out.

As you may or may not know, my life is fraught with minor trauma when it comes to the dating scene, and as luck would have it, I need a date for an upcoming work function. This is kind of a swanky affair--well, not really, but the person I drag along needs to have superior manners and not look out of place in a crowd of people employed by an uber-conservative organization. This should not be that difficult to find, right? Well, not if I don't mind going with some ego-maniacal, bourgeois oppressor of those who dare to think outside the proverbial box (read: almost all the fellows I know from church, etc.).

After much consideration, I narrowed the field down to three nice guys I know and finally decided I'd better ask one of them. I mean, the event is now nine days away, and if Man No. 1 can't go, then I've got to work quickly through my next options, especially because I'll be out of town for five of those next nine days. So I thought I'd go for the typical, timid Rachel approach. You know, a harmless email. "Um, so, I was wondering if, um, you didn't have anything else going on, if you'd, like, want to maybe go to this banquet with me?" OK, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but kind of the tone. But that approach was not meant to be.

What happened was I was talking to one of my top consultants and coworkers, Jacob. I mentioned to Jacob that I had gone with his advice and decided to take Mr. Euro-Chic. EC is a friend of mine, but our friendship kind of comes in starts and stops because we don't see one another very often. Anyway, when I showed Jacob the email, he put the quick kibosh on it, and wrote another one for me. Jacob's version of the invite read as follows:

Dear Mr. Euro-Chic,
You seemed to enjoy last year's festivities, so how's this? Thursday, March 23. You pick me up at my apartment at 6:15 p.m. for the XYZ Company Corporate Awards Banquet. I'll be looking really hot, so you'll want to bring flowers. Dinner will be provided, and I already signed you up for a non-vegetarian meal. Afterwards we'll go out for dessert, or not, depending on how we feel. But the bottom line is it's going to be a wicked-good time. AND did I mention I'm going to be looking smokin' hot?
Love,
Rachel

OK, EC probably should know that it wasn't me who wrote the email (I shudder at the use of passive voice, even if I'm afraid to be anything but a passive person when asking a man out), but even if he did, it didn't phase him. This morning I came to work to an email that basically conveyed interest, but not commitment (he was checking on some details so he could get back to me, "pronto"). So now we can all wait with anxious anticipation to see if I'm going to actually have a date or if I'll be going with Options 2 or 3. I really hope I'm not setting myself up to give further evidence of my socially-awkward status to the myspace world, but so be it. Que sera sera. Live and let live. Or whatever. Except I'm a little afraid that I'm going to throw up. And assuming he does go along with this hair-brained scheme, how am I supposed to pull off "smokin' hot?" Like sands in the hourglass, these are the days of our lives.