Gimme a lift?

Soon enough, time came to pass that I was to run into B.J., again. This time we really had some time to chit-chat and get to begin to know one another. I instantly liked him, because he was fun and made me laugh. But, it was in a guy-friend sort of way. Not in a romantic-I-would-like-to-date-you sort of way.

He was unattached, and so was I. My friends, God love them, got to conspiring and decided that they needed to set me up with B.J.--forcefully. The decided we would be a perfect match.


Again, I wasn't looking for anyone at the time. I had never felt a need or desire to be with a guy at any one time in my (albeit brief) life. I was quite as content in life to be single and hang out with my girlfriends as I was if I had a guy to date. I really didn't care. I didn't think I'd ever want to get married, and I certainly did NOT want any children in the remotely foreseeable (as in up to age 40) future. I was just happy to be me. So, the fact that my friends wanted me to go out with this guy, wasn't exactly unappealing, but neither was it a priority.

It all shook out like this: I agreed, grudgingly, to go out with B.J. on the condition that we go to a party I'd been invited to and he take my girlfriends along --since they needed a ride. I know it wasn't even remotely nice of me to deal with him that way, but like I'd already said I was fairly self-centered at this point in my life.

B.J. picked my friends and I up, and we went to the party. It wound up being broken up sooner rather than later on account of some drunken fools who decided it was necessary to brawl. It was a bit of a drag, but so be it. B.J. drove us (what a sweet guy he was, to put up with 3 very drunk and very rowdy girls) home, and managed to drop me off last (pretty smooth move, on his part). As we were sitting in my driveway, at 3am, he and I started to talk. Now, when you're me, and slightly inebriated (or as this case was: totally plastered), you talk about the highly philosophical or the utterly mundane; my conversation that evening took a dramatic, ninety-degree turn straight into the mundane: how my car was dirty and needed washed.

Doh! (a la Homer Simpson)

Somehow, B.J. and I decided to meet up again. He gave me his phone number, and told me to call him the next day for directions to his house so that I could drive over and he could help me to make my car clean.

Our first 'official' date was set for the following Saturday afternoon: B.J. was going to wash my car.