Tuxes and Tiaras

I knew I wanted to give Jack an honest chance without the whole New Orleans fiasco the morning after I met him. I was slumped in the passenger seat of his SUV, hungover and not handling it very well. As we emerged from the parking deck I use for my apartment building, I groaned and shaded my eyes from the morning sun with my palm. Jack looked over at me and stifled a smile. He then aimed so only his side of the SUV would go over the speed bumps, and not mine.

Honestly, it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. It was a small gesture, but it was something I never would imagine doing. I always drive so my side misses the speed bumps, it had never even occurred to me that there was another way. He put my comfort in front of his own.

Okay Sarah, you need to give this boy a break. You've given him an awful lot of grief for someone who hasn't actually started dating you yet. Play nice.

Jack was parked in front of my building again at 8 PM that night. When he saw me tug the gate open, he got out of the truck. And he looked great. I looked down at my own sweater and felt embarrassed. He got my door and then ran back to his side, and as soon as he sat down, his fingertips nipped at my elbow and he told me he loved my sweater.

I chose the restaurant. It's my favorite place in Midtown and my stand-by date place. Besides, I had coupons. What I was not counting on, however, was Oscar night. The upstairs was rented out for the AIDS Survivor Oscar Party.

"Omigod," he whispered as we saw men in tuxes and tiaras dancing in front of a projection TV screen.

"That's Midtown for you!" I laughed.

Because the Oscars was playing on every screen, most of our conversation--when we weren't watching--revolved around our taste in movies.

"What do you mean you haven't seen Little Miss Sunshine?!" I hollered.

"I've never saw it. No reason why."

"Well you have to see it. And if you don't love it, then we have much bigger problems."

After dinner we walked back to his truck, clumsily avoiding the crazy homeless man who was trying to sell Jack a flower. I grabbed Jack's hand after the man started screaming obscenities at us and shaking the wilted flower.

"That's Midtown," I repeated and we heard the swell of cheers from the AIDS Survivor Oscar Party.

"What now?"

"Little Miss Sunshine?"

"Okay," he playfully sighed.

Back at my place he admired my books as I slipped the disc in. When I sat down on the couch, he had wrapped himself around me. I don't know how he did it, but it was very crafty. He then pressed his cheek to my temple and smelled my hair.

And he liked Little Miss Sunshine.

I turned off the DVD player, leaned in to kiss Jack, and he extended his cheek to me.

"Don't be a dick," and I grabbed his chin and pulled it towards me. Um, did I just say that? Out loud? So he could hear?

Classy, table for one please.

He made a joke about the line while I sat there, utterly horrified at what just escaped my mouth. He then got up to leave.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit ohshit!

At the door he grabbed me and kissed me again, telling me he'll call. I closed the door, locked it, and turned around and sank down on the cold slate tile.

What is wrong with me? And why am I allowed in public?