best man to one of my favorite grooms, but I have learned that being in a rush took the pressure off, and once the pressure was off I could make it through most or all of a date without telling tall tales. I jump out of the shower and into a standard first-dinner-date outfit—a little black dress, jet bead necklace, just a little bit of makeup, midheel slingbacks. I don’t know where we are going, and this outfit shows that I cared enough to get dressed up, but I won’t be overly dressy even if he is wearing jeans. Matching bra and panties because you just never know. And of course, I would grab my Prada on the way out. As safe of a choice as I thought I was wearing, I still wasn’t prepared for how Seth greeted me in the lobby.
Now I know the ’80s have made a comeback and are somehow considered classic. I even picked up a Lacoste polo dress the other day, and last week I wore a neon turquoise belt. But I still would not have guessed that Seth would wear a pink polo shirt under a sports jacket, sleeves rolled up, plaid shorts, and Wayfarer sunglasses. And yes, he had the collars popped up, straight out of a John Hughes movie, RIP. As it turned out, he had gotten last-minute tickets to see an ’80s cover band, ahem, “tribute band” and “what girl doesn’t like the ’80s?”
As we went out to hail a cab, it did strike me as a bit odd that he hadn’t called to tell me our evening would have a theme—I would have gladly stuck a scrunchy in my hair and pulled on some fishnets and a mini skirt. As luck (or preparedness) would have it, I had a few chunky acrylic bangle bracelets in my bag, and was also able to swap out the jet beads for early Madonna-esque pearls that were long enough to wrap around my neck a few times. “Don’t go showing me up now,” Seth comments at my mini-makeover in the backseat of a yellow cab.
The band is called The Legwarmers, a name I think is cute and get a kick out of. Seth proceeds to tell me “how hot chicks in legwarmers and stirrup pants” were when he was in high school. But the way he talks about it, the glint in his eye, how animated he is—how does he even remember what stirrup pants were called?—makes me wonder if he still has a poster of Jennifer Beals in his room—I mean—apartment. When we arrive at the bar, they are showing videos from VH1 classics, and when Billy Idol comes on, I have a sudden flashback of dancing in my pink bedroom with two of my friends and my little sister. I vow to call Emma in the morning. Noticing that I am enjoying the music, Seth begins to umm, dance, to the music. Now, lots of people around us have started to move to the music, no doubt with some of the same nostalgia for their youth as I had experienced. But when I say Seth begins to dance, I mean, he really starts to rock out in true feet-together-feet-apart, shuffle side to side, jerking your head around ’80s style. Thinking he’s kidding around, I start to do the same, and only realize he’s dead serious when he says, “Wow, you can really move!”
By the time they are playing the video for A-ha’s “Take on Me” and a few other one-hit wonders, Seth and I have exhausted our conversation on favorite ’80s fashions and “Where were you when the Challenger exploded?” line of questions. Of course it wasn’t that long of a conversation since I barely remember anything before the age of five! The bar has gotten packed, which is not unexpected for a Lower East Side dive. Seth is glad we arrived early enough to secure standing room front and center. I say that I’m just happy to hear the favorite songs I listened to as a kid, to which Seth responds how much he loves live music. I start to say something about how we are here to see a cover band, but the din of the bar and Seth’s move to put his sunglasses on even though we are indoors make it easier for me to keep my mouth shut.
Seth dangles a cigarette in his lips for the next ten minutes or so, and I start wondering if he
Now I know the ’80s have made a comeback and are somehow considered classic. I even picked up a Lacoste polo dress the other day, and last week I wore a neon turquoise belt. But I still would not have guessed that Seth would wear a pink polo shirt under a sports jacket, sleeves rolled up, plaid shorts, and Wayfarer sunglasses. And yes, he had the collars popped up, straight out of a John Hughes movie, RIP. As it turned out, he had gotten last-minute tickets to see an ’80s cover band, ahem, “tribute band” and “what girl doesn’t like the ’80s?”
As we went out to hail a cab, it did strike me as a bit odd that he hadn’t called to tell me our evening would have a theme—I would have gladly stuck a scrunchy in my hair and pulled on some fishnets and a mini skirt. As luck (or preparedness) would have it, I had a few chunky acrylic bangle bracelets in my bag, and was also able to swap out the jet beads for early Madonna-esque pearls that were long enough to wrap around my neck a few times. “Don’t go showing me up now,” Seth comments at my mini-makeover in the backseat of a yellow cab.
The band is called The Legwarmers, a name I think is cute and get a kick out of. Seth proceeds to tell me “how hot chicks in legwarmers and stirrup pants” were when he was in high school. But the way he talks about it, the glint in his eye, how animated he is—how does he even remember what stirrup pants were called?—makes me wonder if he still has a poster of Jennifer Beals in his room—I mean—apartment. When we arrive at the bar, they are showing videos from VH1 classics, and when Billy Idol comes on, I have a sudden flashback of dancing in my pink bedroom with two of my friends and my little sister. I vow to call Emma in the morning. Noticing that I am enjoying the music, Seth begins to umm, dance, to the music. Now, lots of people around us have started to move to the music, no doubt with some of the same nostalgia for their youth as I had experienced. But when I say Seth begins to dance, I mean, he really starts to rock out in true feet-together-feet-apart, shuffle side to side, jerking your head around ’80s style. Thinking he’s kidding around, I start to do the same, and only realize he’s dead serious when he says, “Wow, you can really move!”
By the time they are playing the video for A-ha’s “Take on Me” and a few other one-hit wonders, Seth and I have exhausted our conversation on favorite ’80s fashions and “Where were you when the Challenger exploded?” line of questions. Of course it wasn’t that long of a conversation since I barely remember anything before the age of five! The bar has gotten packed, which is not unexpected for a Lower East Side dive. Seth is glad we arrived early enough to secure standing room front and center. I say that I’m just happy to hear the favorite songs I listened to as a kid, to which Seth responds how much he loves live music. I start to say something about how we are here to see a cover band, but the din of the bar and Seth’s move to put his sunglasses on even though we are indoors make it easier for me to keep my mouth shut.
Seth dangles a cigarette in his lips for the next ten minutes or so, and I start wondering if he
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