I didn't make the top 5 in the #23 Your Story writing competition on Writer's Digest, but I will share it with you.
Something bizarre occurs at the table next to a couple on their first date.
— From The Writer's Book of Matches
Freudian Slip
By Melissa Tyndall
Danny decided to take his date to Lassiter’s, a local restaurant that served five-dollar appetizers and three-dollar glasses of wine before eight. When he brought a woman there, he could avoid the problem his older sister always complained about before dates when he was younger.
“I know women are supposed to be dainty, but does that mean I have to eat a salad in front of this guy? Should I pretend not to be grumpy the rest of the night because I’m starving,” Stacey would ask.
Back then, he would shrug, standing behind her as she made that half-surprised expression women made when applying lipstick in the bathroom mirror. Now, he circumvented the problem with Lassiter’s. Women didn’t have to worry about the cost, eating a salad or avoiding real food – and the three-dollar wine never hurt. Danny learned a lot about women from his older sister, and that training was going to be especially beneficial on his date with Rebecca.
Danny’s chances with Rebecca were as slim as Llyod Dobler’s were with Diane Court
The night began well. She liked him; he could tell by the way she twisted the ends of her brown hair around her index finger when she spoke. The conversation was easy, the wine was good and she grinned as they shared a plate of French fries. Unfortunately, he could also hear the conversation going on between the couple sitting at the booth behind Rebecca.
The blond woman had a strong southern accent. Not the kind that was endearing or reminiscent of the Old South, but the kind of Southern Appalachian dialect that caused people to pronounce the word washer as if there were an extra “r” in it. Her date was burly and ordered whiskey, but he lacked the accent.
“I just want you to know that if we don’t have sex right away, it’s not because I don’t like you,” the blond said, cutting into her chicken. “I do like you.”
Danny choked on the sip of water he drank the moment the blond began speaking. He shot a glance at Rebecca. She stopped eating and her eyes widened.
“I know that it’s one of those unspoken rules. You know, that the guy has expectations about the third date,” Blondie continued. “But we’re not having sex tonight.”
“Mmm,” her date answered, taking a sip of his Johnnie Walker.
“Like I said, it’s not because I don’t like you. I just think it’s too soon,” she said.
“Since it’s only our third date?”
“No, because I had a miscarriage a few weeks ago. It was just so weird and I don’t think I’m ready for sex yet after all that.”
“Oh,” he said, taking down a larger sip of booze than the last time.
Danny stared a hole through his plate and he pretended he hadn’t heard a word. When the server came over with the chicken fingers they’d ordered, she asked them what kind of sauce they wanted.
“Child. I mean, mild,” Danny said, mortified that he’d spoken without thinking. It was a horrible, Freudian slip. His sister hadn’t prepared him for anything like this.
Rebecca clamped both of her hands over her mouth, as if holding in a laugh. Then, it burst from her in a shrill giggle, similar to a child’s. He began laughing, too, which made her laugh harder, which also made her snort. When she composed herself, she dabbed the tears of laughter from her eyes with her napkin.
“Sorry this date isn’t going so well,” Danny said. He leaned forward across the table.
“Are you kidding? I’ve never laughed this hard on a first date,” Rebecca said.
“Me either.”
She slid her hand across the table, set it on top of his and smiled.
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