I’ve never been stung by a jellyfish and I don’t get beer goggles.

One of these is no longer true.

Three weeks ago, I was betrayed by seven Blue Moons and a dimly lit bar.

I talked. He talked. A number was put in my phone and a future meet-up was planned.

“Ah, what the hell. I mean, it’s free dinner.” I thought at 9:54 the following morning.

“What did he say his name was…” I wondered at 9:55.

Name and dating philosophy aside, I kept my plans.

As a beer goggle newbie, this was the first time I’ve decided the outcome of a date in less than 3 seconds.

For the remaining 5,400 seconds, I went into a mode I call “this date was a horrible idea and I want to go home, so

I’m not talking unless I’m asked a question.”

Somewhere around second #4,200 we hit a remarkable new low:

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.

“……. um……. I guess green or blue,” I replied.

“Why?” He followed up.

“Green and blue are the colors that look best on me,” I drained.

“That’s a dumb reason.”

It was during this exchange that a new sentiment was invited: confusion. As I resisted the urge to follow with a statement about the intelligence of the entire conversation and the promise of the date at large, I pressed mute and lingered.

“Is there a ‘smart’ reason for a 25-year-old woman to like one color more than another?” I wondered.

“Maybe I’m just a little out-of-practice. The last time I defended my favorite color, I also adamantly believed my teacher was lying when she said identical twins were two different people,” I continued to wonder.

And at that moment, his mouth stopped moving and I delivered my best ass-out verbal hug, “What’s YOUR favorite color?”

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