Primed for the Perfect Date

by Nicholas Allen — June 28, 2007

So tonight's the Thursday-night date I've been prepping for all week. I sometimes think women think they're the only ones who freak out as a date they've been looking forward to approaches. Maybe "freak out" is the wrong way to put it, but I think women are under the impression that they're the only ones who put hours of thought into what they'll wear, what they'll say, what kind of limits they'll set on any post-date festivities (for example, I'm absolutely not going home with him at the end of the night), and the only ones who dissect this kind of minutiae with their closest friends. And women couldn't be more wrong.

Here's my itinerary for the day. First, I'm swinging by the dry cleaner's on my way to work to drop off the outfit I selected last night. I can't say that I tried on an endless number of combinations (I basically know what I look like in all my clothes), but I did carefully scrutinize everything in my closet before making a final decision.

Once I've gotten to the office, my friends Dave and Mike will call several times over the course of the day to run down a checklist with me. Did I make reservations at the restaurant? Did I confirm them? Did I clean my apartment on the off-off-chance my date ends up here at the end of the night? Am I stocked up on wine? Do I have a "just-in-case" condom ready to go?

I'll also call my date to confirm (I'm fairly certain she remembers, but I like being the guy who calls to confirm). I'll let her decide if I'm picking her up at her door or meeting her at the restaurant--in New York, first dates are generally more about meeting a woman someplace than picking her up, the often nightmare logistics of NYC cabs and trains being what they are. I've also prepared a mental list of films and start times at the theaters closest to the restaurant we're going to, as well as quiet places to get coffee after dinner--if she's so inclined--and slightly less-quiet bars where we could grab a drink, if she'd prefer. And I made sure to pick a restaurant conveniently located near a couple of charming parks and streets, in case an after-dinner stroll strikes us both as a good idea.

Which I think about covers everything. Hey, nobody can say I wouldn't have made one hell of a Boy Scout...

Nicholas Allen is a writer and columnist based in Manhattan. To read all of his blogs, click here.