Jesus Is Just Alright with Me

He was a coworker, and about three years older than I was. I was fresh out of high school, and truthfully a virgin. To everything. I had only ever been on a few sorry-excuses-for-a-date before—ones that generally included Costa Vida (every time, why is that??), followed by board games with a group of Mormon-like snobs, (I lived in a community of mostly these types of people, which I used to blame for my embarrassing lack of experience. In reality, I think I'm just a painfully introverted and anxious person).

So, my history included a lot of awkward pelvic-presses during tight hugs, and too many shallow, "you're just so different from everyone else" statements.

Sadly, this story isn't much different.

To preface: this "man" (boy, really) had a brother whom I had known/worked with for about four months prior to meeting this kid. His brother was about a year younger than me, and was honestly the cutest of the two. However, both brothers had that self-indulged vibe of, "I could really show you a good time," that became just annoying after an hour. Overall: they were immature (surprised? ugh. me neither).

Date boy. We'll call him "Machismo" (he's Hispanic, too!) and he created this aura of "what if" for weeks at the work place. His brother (we'll call him "Pretty Boy") would often walk past my desk and exclaim, "Haha! My brother might ask you out, eh?" (that is a direct quote, I can't make this stuff up). It became nearly insufferable. Every day, I felt like I had to be ever-aware of the possibility of a blitz-attack, or ever-ready to close my eyes and beg to blip away as managers walked by and smirked. The whole company was in on the this schemed possibility of Machismo and I. I just felt wholesomely embarrassed.

The day finally came, when I had to work on some shipping quotes with Mr. Machismo. He grew a quarter of a pair and kinda asked me on a date.

Here's how the actually "asking" played out:

M: "Do you know about the local church devotionals that happen weekly at the university?"

Me: "Yeah, I've been to one before, they're...interesting"

M: "We should totally go sometime!"

Me: "You want to go to a church devotional? I mean...sure?"

M: "Great! Tomorrow. Wednesday. I'll pick you up at 6:00 PM."

Me: "Should we invite **fellow coworker**?"

M: "Nah...let's just have it be us this time."

It went right over my head. It took me until 4 PM on Wednesday night to realize that he had actually asked me on a date. To a devotional?? To each their own, I suppose. Maybe he felt he had to trick me into a "yes," and maybe he was right, but regardless: it worked. Could he really show me a good time? Who the heck actually knows.

Machismo showed up at my house doused in cologne. He shook my father's hand, opened the car door for me and was completely traditional about the whole affair. We drove to a chapel located on the nearby university campus. He was giddy and spoke only about his love for soccer the entire 15-min drive there.

Upon entering the chapel of this building, I was surprised to find that there was a lot more people than expected in attendance. I had only ever been to a churchy-type thing once, and to be fully honest, I didn't find it all that bad. So, we found a seat in one of the cushioned pews nearer to the back (not by choice, it was packed in this building. I'm sure if we could, Machismo would have sat himself front and center). The meeting began as expected, and was followed by much less crying than I anticipated. A lot of jokes were made that were conservative and silly, but pretty entertaining. Machismo spent the majority of the meeting glancing over at me with the goofiest smile. Three or four times, he'd reach out and half-tap, half-grasp the back of my hand, make eye contact, nod and smile, and then return focus to the speaker.

The ruthless bit was nearer to the end, when Machismo looked at me, and said, "Are you ready for this?" I wasn't sure what he was going to do, but my immediate response was, "Please don't." He grinned like the Grinch, stood up, gallantly bounced to the front of the room, and proceeded to intensely read some scripture. It was powerful, really. Like hot air blowing directly into your face.

The meeting was followed by, surprisingly, a flock (OK, like three) of Machismo's "friends" (I guess?) all shamelessly asking, "Who's the lovely lady?","Where did you guys meet?", "Wow, girl, you've got nice shoes" (was the boy who asked that a closeted gay? Most likely), "Machismo, when is it my turn?" (shameless, I tell you, and I was standing right there. Apparently these church boys will actually do anything to get hitched ASAP).

The entirety of my heart prayed to whatever God they believed in that Machismo was at least gonna buy me some food.

And, thankfully, he did. We left the meeting and he asked if I liked frozen yogurt. Hell. Yes.

The car ride to the frozen yogurt shop was mostly uneventful, excepttt for the moment when I told him that I think cilantro tastes like puke. At that point, he got severely serious and asked me to leave the car. I thought he was joking at first, but no—he was genuinely upset that I was not a fan of the taste of cilantro. I got out of the car at a stoplight, and both confused and nervously tense, proceeded to walk down the sidewalk. He flipped his car around and asked me to come back, and honestly, I shouldn't have (!!!but I did, because: frozen yogurt!!! [JKS, I just have a really hard time saying "no"]).

The self-serve frozen yogurt shop was my chance to drown out...everything. I had worked at an ice cream shop before, so my skills at swirling cream were more than proficient. I indulged in swirling about six flavors into a medium-sized cup, and spent too much time drowning it all with crushed Oreo.

When we approached the counter to pay, however, Machismo was surprised by the quantity in my cup. He exclaimed, "I don't know if I've told you, but...I hate spending money!" I gulped, (I did feel bad), and quietly said, "I guess it's too late now...?" while he payed for our dessert. I then rolled my eyes and went to find a table.

This kid was all-around, painfully conservative.

*Tired of this? Same. I'm almost done with this escapade, just stick with me, I promise.*

The next hour consisted of a monologue about his family life. It was pretty messed up at times, with conflicting parents and confused siblings and lots of humiliating mistakes. But I was too tired to care, truthfully.

However, at one point, he got very intense. He looked at me with absolute intent, attempted to tuck my hair behind my ear (he pinched a section, and flung it behind my shoulder. Nearly needless to say, it swung back and ended up in my mouth), and then he interlocked his fingers in with mine. I responded with, "What...the...heck are you doing." He held our hands up in the air, and in declaration, said, "THIS!"

Turns out, he had a severely sprained wrist this whole time. He just thought wearing his brace was dumb-looking for the date, so he braved the harshness of potential pain to go on with the night without it. But this intense announcement and raising of his hand sent him reeling (nearly on the floor) in over-dramatic agony. Unsure of what to do, I let him scream it out for a few minutes.

I hoped we were heading home after leaving the yogurt shop, but instead we spent the next hour shopping for a gift for his dad's birthday. (It's tomorrow, it was 10 PM, and he forgot!!!!!!!) We got his dad a tie, and then I suggested he could take his father to dinner. At this point, Machismo says, "That's an amazing idea, but I don't think he needs a tie AND dinner." So, we had to return the tie (he hates spending money, remember?). We then visited all four of his childhood homes, in order, and I learned too much about his kid-crushes and wild fantasies. (I'm serious: "We were seven and I wanted to kiss her, but I thought that was bad so I just imagined us being married and having five kids.")

Beyond exhausted and frazzled, he finally parked in my driveway. But, before I could finish my obligatory, "Thank you so much," and as I was reaching for the door, he grasped my hand and fervently pulled out the Holy Bible. Reading a passage in Spanish (I didn't understand a damn word), and with small tears, he told me he loved God, and that he could learn to love me, too.

I was so anxiously over it.

**Cue the typical awkward pelvic-pressed-tight-hug-on-my-front-porch scene. It's safe to say that he was probably trying to get a feel of my boobs, too.**

The next day, during our lunch break, my work bestie pulled me into a corner and whispered that Machismo had said, in the middle of a meeting, "If I go on a few more dates with her, I think I'll marry her."

I was horrified, but became even more so when Pretty Boy walked by and casually stated, "My turn!" with a sincerely evil smirk.

Worst date ever? Probably not. Worst date of my ever? God, I hope so.