Opening The Doors, Trumpeting in a First Date

When should I start dating again?” That is the question.

“Probably not less than a week after writing about how I miss my ex.” That is one answer.

“As soon as a cute guy asks me out.” That is another.

Am I ready to start dating again?” Perhaps a better question.

“Probably not less than a week after writing about how I miss my ex.” Again, is an answer.

“Let’s find out the hard way!” is another.

Guess which one I choose.


I have a date tonight. It feels good to say! I like the way the words feel in my mouth. They’re sweet, refreshing, and smooth, like mango sorbet. A palate cleanser they serve at Indian restaurants to help a mouth move on from a chicken tikka masala dinner. A fresh start of a heart moving on from lost love.

We at an outdoor concert in Brooklyn. Over the soundtrack of a soul-stirring seven-piece brass jam band, we attempted small talk. What’s your name? Where you from? What brought you here? Wailing trumpets demanded mouths oh-so-close to ears, just for a hope of hearing answers. A shouted conversation soon abandoned. We gave up and just danced. Danced just the way I like to, with no regard of any other eyes watching, fancy-free from concerns of “cool”. He twirled me on the dance floor. My skirt went spinning, my heart went spinning, a girlish giggle cartwheeling from my lips.

(c) Dino Perruchi via

The next song was a rift on The Doors classic, “Light My Fire”.
“Not my favorite Doors song,” claimed my dance partner, his hand on the small of my back.
“But it’s such a classic!” I cried, “What could you possibly prefer?”
“Oh, I’d say Whisky Bar. But maybe that’s just because I like whiskey,” he smiled.
I grinned. I’d had a gulp of whisky from my friend’s flask but moments before. It coursed its way through my system: warming my belly, clouding my mind, and lubricating my vocal cords.
“‘Show me the way to the next whiskey bar,'” I sang, as we danced to and fro. I paused.
“‘Oh, don’t ask why. Oh, don’t ask why,'” he picked up as I left off, not missing a beat.

I’ve never hoped for someone who finishes my sentences. I dread being so predictable. But someone who finishes my random outbursts of song? That’s long been a dream of mine.


Ah, the time right before a first date! When hopes are high and logic low! I hardly know him at all, beyond his singing capabilities (and he does have a nice voice). He has the potential for everything and nothing. I’m simultaneously excited and atwitter with trepidation. I’m rusty, it’s been a while since my last first date. I can’t help but remember- I’ve been on many more first date failures than successes. But that doesn’t matter. It’s just a date. One I didn’t plan any aspect of accept my outfit! You can bet I’m wearing heels! Thus, it’s everything I wanted. Perhaps exactly what I needed? I’m not sure, but I’m about to find out.

About New York Cliche

NYC lifestyle blog by Mary Lane. Events, adventures, epic mistakes, dating, life, humor. A 20-something trying to make it (and make out) in the city of dreams.

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