My ideal date: the short blond Irish dude in Entourage (I think his name is E) picks me up in his car. Nothing fancy; maybe a Jetta. He’s wearing a nice shirt, a spiffy tie, a blue v-neck sweater, dark blue jeans, and cool sneakers. His cologne smells so amazing that I have to bite my lip when it hits my nose. I’m too nervous to sustain eye contact. I fidget with my hair. He lets me pick the music to listen to on the ride over to the restaurant, which I appreciate. We go out for Mexican food and proceed to drink tequila until our nerves flutter away.
Then we head out to get loose to ’60s soul music at the Barbary. We dance on stage and get sweaty under the disco ball and flashing lights. He spins me around which makes me laugh. Then he pulls me close and I can smell his cologne on his neck and my heart beats so fast that I’d swear he could feel it through my dress. Time stands still. He leans in and says, “Let’s get out of here,” and I nod yes. He takes my hand and leads me out of the place.
Once we’re outside and a few paces past the streetlight, he winds his arm around my waist saying, “C’mere.” Wordlessly, we share our first kiss under dim Philly stars and for the first time in a long time, I’m truly happy.
Fuck, now I need a cold shower.