dating diaries: belt buckle boy (part two)

“Do you want me to meet your parents?” he asked, as I tried to make it not look like I was just lost in his belt buckle.

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” I replied, going out the door.

I walked thru the sprinklers to his blue car and he pounced at the door opening obligation.

I bucked my seat belt and noted the time. 6:11.

“So, what do you want to do?” he asked me.

That’s right kids. A boy came to get me for a date, sans plan.

I told him about my favorite frozen yogurt place, and he said he’d love to try it.

You know how you have a list of questions to ask your date?

Where are you going to school? What are you studying? What color is your toothbrush? You catch my drift.

I burned through my questions on the way to Red Mango. All of them.

His one word answers were getting on my nerves.

“Are you good at Angry Birds?” I joked.

He didn’t laugh. He kept his eyes on the road. And my boobs. This was boob check number three. Don’t fret. I count. I understand one or two, but my boobs aren’t exactly monumental. They happen to be barely existent, depending on the bra. And I wasn’t wearing my good one. Or a low-cut top. Just a normal, scoop neck. Nothing exciting. Promise.

We entered the oh-so familiar Red Mango, and the girl behind the counter laughed and started to get my usual order ready.

Belt Buckle Boy ordered the exact thing I did, but he got the flavor gushers added.

He openly laughed when the girl told us the price.

“Do you want me to pay for mine?” I asked.  

He looked like he was considering it, but he paid for both after boob check number five.