DON’T DATE THE COOL GUYS

When I asked my husband what he thought I should write about for this week’s blog, he snarkily replied, “Oh I don’t know, maybe a story about how your husband is a doofus and does dumb stuff.” I told him I had already done that and that I needed new material. In light of his bad attitude, I think I will turn that on it’s head and tell you about the moment that I pretty much figured out that he was dateable.

Oh children, dating in the 90’s was much different than it is now. There was no Tinder, no Match.com, no way to scope out someone’s life details and profile pic before you said yes or no to a date. There wasn’t even texting. Guys either had to ask you to your face or over the phone. Guys had to be wayyyyy braver than they do now. Girls had less opportunity to be evasive and unresponsive. It was terrifying for both parties.

In those days, blind dating was really just that. If someone set you up on a blind date, you would likely have no way to see what they looked like and you would just have to trust your friend’s sense that this was going to be a good match. It rarely was. I had three doozy blind dates that made me want to take a step back from that whole blind approach. One involved him giving me bowling instructions (who knows, maybe this is why I am such a good bowler now) and then me watching him play video games in an arcade. Thank you, but no. The second blind date involved a non-hunting pacifist showing up in my trophy hunter dad’s living room and feeling sad about all of the dead animals. The third was so blind that I didn’t even know it was a date and barely a word was uttered between us.

After a string of weird dates like this, I took a dating hiatus. In my spiritually mature state, I started telling guys that “God has asked me to take a break from dating for a while” which really just meant that no one was coming along that I wanted to date. (If you were one of those guys, sorry for using that lame line on you. I have become better at honesty over the years.)

And then came Barry. He was 5 ½ years older than me, quiet as a mouse and sporting a wavy mullet. He asked me out three times before I finally agreed. Here’s why I finally agreed. 1) I discovered that he could play electric guitar like a boss, which is, well…an aphrodisiac of sorts for me. 2) I had some lengthy conversations with him and realized that there is a difference between the men and the boys. 3) Hair can be cut.

He made plans for us to go to a live theater event in Dallas and picked me up in his black Ford Taurus. When I got in the car, he said I could be the DJ and I rummaged through the cassettes in his glove box to find some tunes. I found a non-descript cassette called, “The Children” and popped it in. This 80’s glam-metal-ish song started playing that sported three guitar solos and a jaw-dropping tenor singing ungodly high notes. I loved it, as this is my jam forever. I asked him who this was and he said it was his band from a few years back. What?! Quiet mullet man can rival Skid Row’s Sebastian Bach for range and endurance? Shut it. This was getting interesting. He had my attention in all of my shallow entry points. Electric guitar boss=check. Tenor vocal rock god=check.

But ladies, let me tell you about the moment that sealed the deal for me as to whether this guy was true dating material or not. We got lost. This was back before cell phones and GPS and we were relying on directions he had scribbled on a napkin. We were lost and we knew it and so we stopped at a 7-11 to get directions. I stayed in the car and he got out to get some help. I was watching him as he walked into the 7-11 and as he was stepping through the door, he tripped-a big stumbly trip.

This was a pivotal moment for me. See, I had begun to disdain the cool guys. The guys who swished their 90’s long hair around and couldn’t keep their own hands out of it made me sort of ill. The guys who maintained their sense of mystique and ultra-cool had thus far turned out to be substance-less and boring to me. If a cool guy trips on a date, this could jack up his whole persona. A cool guy cannot afford to acknowledge a faux pas like that without wrecking his entire mojo.

I watched Barry like a hawk to see what he would do about his own tripping. Here’s what he did. He immediately looked back at me and shrugged sheepishly.

Swoon.

Seriously, give me the guy who wears maroon shorts and a purple shirt. Give me the guy who will go into 7-11 for some directions. Give me the guy who trips and shrugs. Give me the guy who is a closet metal-rock-god and just forgot to mention it.

Our love story was and is as complex as anybody else’s but I will never forget that night. We sat close together in a booth at the theater and I remember his beige nubby cotton sweater. We sat in the driveway at my parent’s house for an hour after we got home while he did me his litany of impressions. I laughed until my sides hurt. He hugged me goodbye and it was an embrace unlike any embrace I had ever received. Just a proper fit. Just what they call “chemistry.” To be clear, “chemistry” is not what has brought Barry and I through 23 years of marriage and all that comes with it, but it was a great starting place.

Ladies, who makes you laugh? Who sits with you ’til the wee hours of the morning talking? Who has no mojo to disrupt with a little tripping? Date him. Give him a chance. Don’t date the cool guys, cool doesn’t last. Mullets can be cut, clothing can be subbed out for other colors. Confidence is great but humility is priceless. Trust me on this, don’t date the cool guys.