Two Heads, One Heart: Two Allisons, One Scott
"...Texting lewd comments to a woman and pretending I have a very monotone voice was more or less par for the course for me at the time."
I met Allison when I was in the midst of a lengthy dating drought. She was a friend of some friends, and the first time we spoke was when we were out to dinner with them. I was immediately attracted to her. This happens to me often – like every day. The only thoughts in my head are generally “Would bang. Would bang. Would bang. Would definitely bang. Whoa – looks like she doesn’t shave her legs…Would still consider it.” (Do not confuse this with “Love at first sight.” That is a terrible term that should never have been invented. This is just me wandering through life half-crazy because I never get laid with any sort of regularity.)
What’s rare for me, however, is when the flash bang attraction is reciprocated by the other party. With Allison, this seemed to be the case. I confirmed this later that night when I grazed her hand underneath a table, she grazed back, and we linked digits. I celebrated my positive interaction with a female by watching an episode of X-FILES and eating 20 chicken wings at 4 a.m.
We met on New Year’s Eve Eve, and little more than 24 hours later we rung in 2012 with our first kiss.
This was by and far the best start to a courtship I’d experienced in years. I admittedly did not set the bar very high, though – I’d started talking to the last pseudo-girlfriend I’d had after I drunkenly poked her on Facebook. Not, like, reached out to through a message or wall post or anything. I poked her. I’m not proud of it, but it happened. (The previous sentence is a recurring motif in my life.)
When Allison and I began seeing each other, I wanted to ensure that the dates were great. I was going for entertaining, fun and attentive without reaching the creepy levels I had a tendency of achieving at the outset of things.
In short: I didn’t want to fuck up. When you’re not dating often, you can get in the habit of trying way too hard too early on, because you want to win approval or attraction or love or whatever the fuck. This scares some girls away, and leads others to believe that you feel more strongly for them than you really do at that point. Both scenarios have their negatives, and, for me, both had led to awkward dates where many words and actions were construed to mean much more than they really did.
Eventually, you realize you’ve been trying too hard, and you overcompensate in the other direction. You don’t try hard enough.
Dating is hard, especially if all you do is worry about how your date is going to go while you are physically on the date.
With Allison, everything went splendidly. I was happy to be in her presence, which is significant for me because I am often happiest when I am alone, clutching a Bota box of wine and reading shit.
It was winter in a resort community in Maryland, so there wasn’t much to do except go to movies and drink with friends, so that's generally what we did.
Since I was so rusty on the dating front, I was more comfortable when we were doing things in groups, and I lost sight of the fact that sometimes people who are in the infancy of a potential relationship should spend some time alone. Allison wouldn’t complain about this, but would occasionally drop hints that she would enjoy it if we were engaging one-on-one more often.
But our friends still wanted to see us. So when we were out somewhere with them, I tried to make sure Allison knew I was always paying attention to her.
About a month after we’d begun seeing each other, Allison and me were out to dinner with a bunch of friends. We were drinking wine, which was a nice way to build upon the buzz I’d begun by drinking scotch during the requisite pre-date shower.
I pulled my concentration momentarily from the cheese plate to consider what I should do to show Allison I was happy to be with her, that in a room full of people the one I was looking at and thinking of the most was her. (Specifically, that I wanted to eat some fancy cheese off of her naked body. Because I love cheese and the naked bodies of women and applying the concept of a mash-up to nonmusical things.)
A small gesture would put us on a higher romantic level, in her eyes, than the other couples we were with. This is generally a good thing, because romance turns women on. (That’s a pro tip, fellas, free of charge.)
Now, this is going to sound weird, because it totally is. (One of the things I’ll always miss about Allison is how completely weird we were with each other. I’m glad that when after my own doing crumbled things months later, she eventually decided to allow me to stay on in her life as a platonic friend.) We shared an adoration of Boyz II Men, and so I would often speak to her in my Michael McCrary voice, which Allison would tell you is ON POINT. McCrary is no longer with the group. The two entities came to the end of the road. But you probably remember him as the guy who never really sang, and would instead just speak all kinds of seductive lines and monologues in the middle of songs. Sometimes I would text ridiculous things to Allison, and she would know based on the verbiage that I was channeling my inner Michael M.
I slid my phone out of my pocket and clandestinely began typing a message to Allison, looking down as little as possible. I didn’t want somebody to notice I was texting during dinner, when the only woman I was likely to be texting was sitting across the table from me. I’d get one of those “HEY SCOTT, WHO YA TEXTING?” comments, like my goddamn Grandma was there. (Love you, Grandma Lil!)
“Oh, hey girl, you look so beautiful tonight,” I typed. “When the moon is high and the stars are shining, I’ma get you naked and lay you downnnn.”
I sent it without pausing to reflect on how it is I have ever had a date with anybody.
Then I waited for a reaction.
I was hoping she would reach for her phone, but the rest of the meal passed without her touching it. Maybe she was being polite. I kept drinking and eventually forgot about it, because as odd as it is to say, texting lewd comments to a woman and pretending I have a very monotone voice was more or less par for the course for me at the time. And something I could forget about easily, especially if I was binge drinking.
The rest of the night passed without mention. I woke up the next morning, Allison beside me, to a text message that read:
“Hahahahaha. Wrong Allison, Scooter.”
I’d sent a dirty text message to the other Allison in my life: my Aunt Allison.
Getting buzzed up in my apartment the evening before, I had decided I should text Aunt Allison to tell her I was going on a date with a woman also named Allison, because HOLY FUCK AMIRITE?!
In my effort to be inconspicuous at dinner, I had hastily scrolled through my text messages and chosen the wrong recipient. I had told my aunt I was going to get her naked and lay her down.
I had conjured a gesture borne of affection or love or something like it, and unwittingly sent it the way of someone who should not have received it.
It was not the first time this has happened to me. And it probably won't be the last. (First and last time a relative will be involved, though. I hope.)
And that’s OK. Because when I do finally get the correct message to the right person, it will be a great story. Maybe one I'll tell to kids someday or something.
And that will be worth experiencing all of the ridiculous stories that precede it.