Practice makes perfect

There’s the date before the date. The "practice date," if you will.

I’d been trying to go out with this one girl for a while, and I finally got her number. It took some doing, but I got it done. Pat yourself on the back, future self.

Because I’d only been dating acquaintances lately, I wanted to get back into the groove of the whole fancy-schmancy routine with a total stranger. I needed a warm-up. So, I asked a close friend to set me up. Granted, her recommendations are usually a gamble, but what the hell—it was all in the name of practice. I even booked the exact restaurant where I planned to take the main event.

To kill time before dinner, I tried watching The Pacific because everyone was raving about how intense it was. Personally? Bored by the opening credits. The only thing that kept me conscious was trying to figure out if one of the soldiers was Mr. Schue from Glee. I switched over to WrestleMania instead to witness the retirement of my third-favorite wrestler of all time, Shawn Michaels. He’s a douche, but I love him.

And then it was game time. The real douche had arrived.

I was driving to Makati for the date, heading to a restaurant my friend owned for automatic bonus points. And there she was: the practice date. Damn, she really dressed up.

Honestly, I don’t remember a single thing we talked about or the wine we drank. But I do remember there was zero dead air. She wasn't a supermodel, but she was lovely. Against all odds, I ended up having a great time.

But a warm-up is a warm-up. And yes, ironies of ironies, the "main event" girl ended up being a total disappointment later on. But you can never go back to the practice date. Because if things actually work out, you’ll eventually have to tell her the truth about why she was there in the first place.