Breakfast Dates Suck.

Works Third Shift Guy: Nothing good is going to come from a breakfast date. I am not a morning person. So I’m already at a disadvantage, since it’s significantly harder to be witty and charming when I’m groggy and cranky.

I don’t know what to wear for a breakfast date. Other than sunglasses, because it’s really bright and sunny, and my eyes are already pretty unhappy with me since they have to be open. But breakfast is a decidedly casual endeavor. Cleavage has to be daytime appropriate. Heels are a bit much. Plus, I’m struggling with the fact that I just want to be in my sweatpants. Really, I just want to still be in my bed. So I have to find that perfect “I look hot without looking like I’m trying” casual outfit. One of the most difficult clothing challenges. Not one to be undertaken while still half asleep.

The meal itself is easy – breakfast is a great meal to eat out. Eggs, bacon, toast, oatmeal…it’s the only part of the breakfast date that’s worth it. The difficulty is when the meal is over.
Because at this point, it’s 10 a.m. We’re not going to hang out and flirt over beers. We’re not going to head back to anyone’s house. We’re not going to make out in a dark corner. We’re going to walk out into the obscenely bright parking lot. Then we’re going to get into our cars and drive off separately to start our days.

Even though he walks me to my car, I’m still in my morning fog and I’m thrown off by the weirdness of the breakfast date. So I open my car door and stand so it’s between us. Even if he wanted to try to kiss me good-bye, I’ve now effectively blocked him from any access to me at all. We stand there awkwardly, me on one side of the car door, him on the other. “Well, seeya.” He gives a half-wave and walks away.

I sit down in my car, pulling the door closed. “Damn breakfast date.”