When my husband and I first met, we lived in Boston and Manhattan, respectively, so our first real “date” had to be one of those volatile weekend visits that destroy so many fledgling relationships. He was coming to visit me. I was racking my brain to think of the best places to take him and the most not-awkward things to do: first date on steroids.
Of course we talked on the phone a lot, because we were not able to see each other in person. One night a few days before that first weekend visit, I was listening with only one ear as he told me about his evening. What I was really thinking about what if I shouldn’t take him to my favorite Belgian restaurant for dinner. But did he like shellfish? Polarizing.
Meanwhile, he was rattling on about his evening’s activities, and told me he had just gotten back from the gym. Running along my own selfish thought train, I blurted out “Do you like mussels?”
There was an awkward pause.
“Ummm…what do you mean?” Because, based on the actual conversation he had thought we were having about his trip to the gym, this is what he heard.
“Do you like muscles?”
This could have been one of those moments when so many relationships go horribly wrong and end before they are started. Because, seriously, what kind of a creepy question was that?
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