The Story of Us: Artichokes and Dr. Phil

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Our first date was a smashing success {as smashingly successful as awkward first dates go}.  Aside from possessing all of the chivalrous qualities that can make a girl swoon, Clark managed to do everything right. He listened to the little birdie who informed him of my favorite restaurant. He listened intently from across the table, all of his non-verbals indicating he was taking permanent mental note of every word I said as thought they were all dripping with pure brilliance. He didn’t make me feel like a complete moron when I ordered the Fire-Roasted Fresh Artichoke and much to my surprise a whole artichoke arrived at the table. Do you have any idea how to eat a whole artichoke? Neither did I. He asked scintillating questions about everything from my world travels to how I take my tea to how many siblings I have to my beliefs on speaking in tongues.

{insert record scratch…cue voice over}
“Need a moment?”

To this day, I’ve asked Clark what on Earth possessed him to ask me if I believed in speaking in tongues on our very first date. He said that he wasn’t quite sure why he asked me– that he was just making conversation. Come to find out that the same little birdie who told him I like restaurants that serve edibly challenging finger foods also told him that I grew up in the pentecostal church. Looking back, I think he may have subconsciously wanted to know if I was a practicing pentecostal as he would then have to figure out how he was going to bring a tongue-talking, streamer-twirling, shofar-blowing, Charisma magazine subscriber home to meet his Southern Baptist mama. But I told him I hadn’t waved the Lion of Judah banner in years so… we’re square. In spite of the awkward appetizer and and the even awkward-er topic of spiritual conversation, I happily agreed to a second date with Clark Beasley.

Two weeks {and one South American adventure} later, I opened my front door to a bubble-blowing Clark Beasley wearing a T-shirt that read, “Plays Well with Others”. I mean, really girls. What’s not to love? It was Date Number Two and Clark had tickets for us to go see Marc Broussard in concert. He took me out for a steak dinner before the show where I proceeded to break the cardinal rule of all Second Date Cardinal Rules. I told him my ENTIRE LIFE STORY complete with disappointments and tragedies and lots of sentences that began with “…and then one time when I was six” and “my counselor told me…” Here’s a tip, ladies…

DON’T. EVER. DO. THAT!

The thing is, I just felt so comfortable with him, but even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I had this sort of out-of-body experience where my second {and more sober-minded} body was screaming “You idiot! You are so gonna blow this!” Even before I had finished my filet, I was thoroughly convinced that this would be my last date with Clark Beasley. Classic me. Open mouth. Insert a WHOLE ARTICHOKE.

After dinner, we headed downtown to a club for a little “Bayou Soul”. I’m singing along to all of my favorite Marc Broussard tunes when suddenly Clark leans over and asks me if I want to dance. See now, the thing about most Carencro lovers is that they don’t exactly dance at Marc Broussard shows which means we would be the only two people in a room of about 250 slow dancing to “Lonely Night in Georgia”. Still, it was the least I could do after I had just mistaken Clark for my shrink at dinner. He took my hand and pulled me in close and I felt it. That glorious feeling you get when you suddenly realize you are attracted to someone…. like hot wax has somehow replaced every drop of blood in your veins. I love that feeling! It was a magical moment…. right up until two stranded musician friends asked us if they could bum a ride home in the back of Clark’s van. That was the end of the magic…. for now at least. But not all was lost. I was digging Clark Beasley and I had the slow dance to prove it.

The miraculous happened and Clark forgot about my Dr. Phil moment enough to ask me out on a third date where he proceeded to do the unfathomable.

He stated his intentions.

I didn’t even know guys did that anymore. Mind you, I had just endured the last six months with the Commitment-Phobe World Traveller, so to hear a guy with whom I felt the Magical Hot Wax say that he wanted to date me and only me was enough to make me want to attempt a roundoff back handspring triple tuck right into his leather-clad arms! SOLD!! to the musician with the DTR!

It was spectacular. It was kismet. It was more than my feminine heart could have ever hoped for or imagined. Which is precisely why one week later…

I broke up with Clark Beasley.

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