Superlative

Would you believe last night was the best date I ever had?

No?

Good. Because that would be a lie.

Talk about the worst evening ever!

Boo.

But I'm gonna talk about it here, because then I only have to relive the horrid story once, and not over-and-over again. When people ask, "How did things go last night?" I can just give them the link.

So first off, it wasn't really a date-date. Which I didn't know until last night, obviously.

And next, a disclaimer: I'm not at all interested in the boy of the story. And before you get extra mad on my behalf, just know that I never was. Why? Many reasons:

1- This boy obviously likes a friend of mine. And I am happy for her (or at least I was-- now I'm not too sure about his character).

2- A girl I know and quite frankly, don't like at all, had a crush on said boy. This alone would cause me to run in the other direction, because this girl's purpose in life seems to be to make mine a living hell. I'm not gonna compete.

3- Myriad other reasons. He's nice enough and attractive enough, but I generally only crush on long-established friends, of which he isn't. Good enough.

So anyway, on to the set-up: About a week and a half ago I was sick with a cold/flu. I stayed home from church and sat in my dad's recliner trying to sleep. I felt like poo. I finally went home Sunday night and tried to work on some projects to keep my mind off the fact I was tired and restless and uncomfortable. Got a text from a number I didn't recognize-- it was my new FHE dad inviting me to the next day's activity. I figured out who it was and sent a verification text-- "H, is that you? This is Rachel Sego." So he asks me, "Is that sinking into the couch Rachel?" And I said, "No, because I have no idea what that is in reference to. Actually, it's the Rachel all your friends don't like." I shouldn't have said it. I should have said, "Your family history Sunday School teacher." Or possibly "Rachel with the good hair." But I was still feeling actively hurt from his circle of friends and I had a passive-aggressive moment. So while I didn't have a voice, I texted a few people back and accidentally answered his phone call. "Oh, THAT Rachel," he said.

I told him I didn't want to talk because my voice was strained as it was. So then I got a series of text messages telling me that he knows people are mean to me and it isn't right (it isn't, but still it's a bit awkward coming from a boy who doesn't really know me at all). And then an offer to "talk." Um, why would I want to talk about this at all? I just got over crying every day about it. Plus, my voice was on the fritz. More concerned texts, and I began to feel like a project.

So over the next week, H keeps up the campaign. Finally after all the "is there anything I can do for you" solicitations, I decided to turn it around and say, "Well, is there anything I can do for YOU?" He tells me he doesn't know how to cook. Would I teach him to cook something we could eat afterwards-- and unfortunately-- then talk? I was weary of the bombardment, so I consented with a tentative yes.

The thing is, I got to thinking I'd been wrong. In telling a few of my most-trusted companions about the whole thing, only one person found it insulting (and he spends a lot of time being bitter anyway), whereas several friends essentially said, "Hey, give the guy a chance. Even if he does think of you as a project, at least it's coming from a good place." And I agreed. Still do. He's pretty nice-- or at least he has decent intentions.

I'd even gotten to the point where I was looking forward to the evening. Sure, it had meant missing a meeting of a group that's pretty important to me. Also, I'd had an invitation from a friend to go over and watch the season premiere of "Glee" and "New Girl." It would've been fun, but I'd already made plans with H. Unfortunately, my Glee-watching friend was pretty upset about it, but a commitment is a commitment, right?

Anyway, last night finally came. I worked all day and then scooted home to get all the stuff I'd need. I wasn't planning on teaching him how to make anything fancy, but you never know what kind of things people have or don't have in their kitchens. So I loaded up several reusable grocery bags and drove the 45 minutes to make it to his apartment. When I got there, he was on the phone with someone and yelled for me to come in, so I just got to work in the kitchen, making a peach pie with some of my precious, preserved Palisades peaches. Those things are like gold in our family!

The pie was ready to go in the oven, and I had started on the Caprese salad when the latest of half a dozen text alerts came over his phone (he'd been responding the whole time). I said, "someone really must want to get a hold of you" or something like unto it, and he said, "Well, the thing is, I'm over-scheduled. I didn't know it was going to take you 45 minutes to get here, and I'm supposed to go swing dancing at 7." It was about 6:55 and the pie hadn't even gone into the oven.

Well, what can you do? In my case, I made him a sandwich and left the ingredients to make a really good salad. I told him how to bake the pie while I packed up my things and tried not to look too hurt. He didn't argue, and he didn't help, unless you count him carrying one of the bags of groceries to my car (which really speaks volumes). There was a feeble invitation to go swing dancing, but it didn't take a lot of instinct to know that this would have interfered with his plans with the person or people he had considered a better offer. On the whole, it was pretty demoralizing. I went home.

I told my sister about it last night, who in turn told my brother-in-law and my mom. I'm pretty sure my dad heard about it too, because he told me he loved me about five times this morning before going out to a jobsite. That's possibly the worst part. Mostly because it hurts them. Of course, when my brother finds out, his reaction won't be pleasant either. Yesterday I was at work until past five, and I said, "I really need to go because I have plans tonight." Brother was incredulous. So either his teasing will be justified, or he'll feel bad because he'll think he jinxed me.

I'd sure like to have a social life that wasn't just full of mortification.