There’s something to be said for Love at First Sight. We’ve seen it work in the movies, heard about it from the ideal couple, and daydreamed about it happening any minute now. And as mythical as any smart, cynical dater knows this pipe dream to be, it remains lodged at the peak of our Mt Everest of romance, shamelessly holding the #1 spot in our Top 10 How We Met wishlist.

Oh, how silly. Everyone knows we’re going to end up with that nice guy who has been picking up the slack all these years, biding his time until we come around and realize that HE’s what it’s all about. Fine. I can handle that fate. But until then… A girl can dream, can’t she?

Well sure she can, but it’s not always a good idea. If you’re me, you’ll do it anyway and then have fabulous stories to tell you all. So here we go: Refusing to heed the cynics and my own good sense, I stepped into the dating world on this dream alone. And to what results…

Step One: Sight. According to my research, as love at first sight promises, you’ll see The One, he or she will see you, and BAM you’ll just KNOW. I figured that didn’t seem impossible. He only need be insanely attractive to grab my sight. And sans girlfriend (details, I tell you). So I started looking on all corners. A few grabbed my eye, a few passed me by, and I was near defeat when one day the gods stopped working for Tyra and decided to pay a little attention. They planted him across the street from the theater I worked at in a mop of curly blond hair and a barista apron. Perfecto Espresso! I was over there every night before the show, fixing to fix my fate with “Coffee Guy”. Fortunately, this particular theatrical endeavor of mine had me workin’ some fishnets and a lot of red lipstick, and like Grandma always told me, that’s the easiest way to get a man. Sure enough, sight-for-sight had us exchanging numbers and making plans for a night out.

Not long after he called to confirm, I started exhibiting irrational love-struck behaviors. I was scrawling out Mrs. Christine {His Last Name} on every bar napkin before I even knew his last name. What did I have to worry about? This was my newfound fate! I had found love at first sight with the Coffee Guy! A much more cynical friend with a few years on my lime green self commended me with her usual sarcastic flair on my ability to fall in love with someone I know absolutely nothing about. I told her that was the point, duh, as I joyfully mused on our retirement cottage in Nova Scotia. I had achieved the impossible! The hard part was over! Only a lovely downhill slope from here, kids.

Or spiral, depending how you look at it. Well the first date found me drinking whiskey and soda on an empty stomach, and that coupled with my blind enthusiasm had me gleefully dropping the “Like” word and (I think) agreeing to be his girlfriend. Date # 2 took us to 80s night at Neo, which was just a little bit insane. As it turns out, he loves to dance by himself in a style that can only be categorized as Tecktonik meets The Twist, leaving me feebly shimmying the night away in an effort to keep up. (Oh I tried dancing with, but he said couples dancing messed up his rhythm, and sure enough, he fell over when I tried anyway) Whatever, I figured, so 80s music is his thing. This was just one of those personality traits I couldn’t read based on sight alone. And wasn’t this blind love affair what I had signed up for? Swallowing fast the creeping doubt, I charged right up to Date #3.

A quiet Sunday night at Danny’s Tavern (no 80s music, per my request) started with a detour at his apartment, for a “gift” he had picked up for me (his girlfriend.) That’s when the panic set in. Gift? How does he know what I like!? Does he even know what my favorite color is? Come to think of it, our first date breezed right past that vital conversation! Oh God, what if this gift is something Taupe?! Well, readers, this gift was…

… Shiny black pleather pants. That's right. Some sort of shiny, black, synthetic material shaped into PANTS. Now it’s weird to get pants as a gift from anyone, unless they are of the neon sweat variety and from your kooky aunt. And it may be weirder to get them on such short notice (a mere three dates in, remember) and from someone who barely knows you (though, oddly enough, guessed your pants size to a T) So there I stood in all that shiny glory, thoroughly weirded out, and it dawned on me that I have gotten myself into something entirely different from what I thought I was getting myself into. What happened to that adorable guy who was supposed to be my soulmate? Surely there’s been some mix-up! And I’m sure he was standing there, witnessing the look on my face, and thinking, “What happened to that girl who was supposed to love these shiny pants?” Both of us stood guilty of falling “in love” with the wrong person.

I supposed that’s what I get for impulse-buying a relationship; the clouded perception of what it is I’ve gotten myself into, followed quickly by the buyer's regret of something that wasn’t quite what I had in mind. As for the guy, I can’t fault him, even with his relative lack of sense regarding ladies fashion. How was he to know that I had fallen in love with the sight of him; a mere idea up against his true character—who I am sure some girl much less square with an equal passion for 80s music will love and adore. As for me, maybe I’ll think twice before fussing with my fate in the future. In the meantime, if anyone has an idea of what top would go with these pants...

What did you think of this post?

To start your own Chicago neighborhood or topical blog on The Windy Citizen, write to us at editor@windycitizen.com.