I Have Absolutely No Clue How To Date People

I’ll preface everything by saying I wrote this article last year. I was in a dark place. A place that maybe a few others have found themselves in also. Without further ado, here’s why I had / have absolutely no clue how to date.

She gets in the car. I don’t even look at her. I smile and ask her how her day was as I stare at the passenger side mirror. I’m nervous. I try to think ahead for topics to talk about, but I can’t stop focusing on not getting into an accident.

I start sweating. Some song comes on that sounds 10 times worse than it usually does. I start stressing about that. I change it.

“Why did you change it? I love that song!”

I change it back, then slam on the breaks because some dude cut in front of me. It’s rush hour. Then she starts singing and looking at me to sing too. I don’t want to sing. By now I’m about as wound up as a 4th grader’s rubber band ball.

This is how my dates go with pretty girls.

For some reason I can’t figure it out. There’s no confidence on my side at all. My mind’s too busy coming up with the cure for cancer while navigating rush hour while simultaneously trying to entertain the gorgeous piece of woman sitting in the passenger seat.

I’ve always suffered with this. I’ve never been an outgoing guy. You know when you’re talking to them, right? You always have so much fun talking to them. They always have something to say and they make everyone laugh all the time.

I’m not even complaining, guys. I’m happy with who I am. I get a little nervous, alright? I’m poking some fun at myself.

But it sucks because I never really put my best foot forward. It’s just like me with job interviews. They say “Tell me about yourself” and I stammer away giving them a five-minute answer that should’ve taken one minute to say. If only I was a little relaxed!

Then we get to where we’re going and I don’t don’t make any physical contact because I do not want to be a creep or do something she doesn’t want me to do (like hold her hand or something). I don’t even want to eat in front of her because I’ll probably lose all control over my mouth and eat like a hog. Tacos are an absolute no-go.

Then I’ll walk her back to my car and drive her home wondering whether I’ll kiss her or just give her a hug. These moments stretch out for an eternity, I swear. Every flick of the turn signal feels like slow motion. Her voice starts getting a little deeper. Okay, it doesn’t.

Then we’re there. I look at her and she tells me she had fun. Then she tells me we should do it again sometime (which I spend the next thirty minutes debating if she meant). Then I give her a hug, and watch her walk into her house. So. Damn. Pretty.

It’s my fault. I’m a huge loser at first, believe me. Once you get to know me I can be a lot of fun, but it’s tough to get there.

As I drive home I check my messenger erratically. No texts. It’s up to me now.

After I get home I open up our text history and start pouring words into the box. I tell her about how I was nervous the whole time. I tell her why I didn’t want to sing. I explain why I didn’t order more than two tacos, and why I didn’t kiss her before she went in even though she looked so beautiful.

Some bubbles pop up, and she tells me it’s just fine and she had a great time.

Maybe it’s all in my head. But then again, mostly every worry I have is.

Want some more honest stories like this one? Download the free 26-page Post-Grad Survival Guide Magazine. It’ll help you get you hired or my name isn’t Tom Kuegler.



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