Blind dates were always awkward. First there was the little are-you-him dance at the bar, or wherever you'd decided to meet. Just as often as not, the first person you approached was not your date and that sucked. Especially if he turned out to be way cuter than the guy you were actually there to meet.
When you finally did get settled with the right guy, there was that phase where you tried to figure out what to talk about. When the check came, who paid? Were you both on the same page as far as how the date had gone? What if he wanted to see you again while you were all no way? Or vice versa.
Not to be forgotten was the post-date debriefing with whoever'd set you up in the first place, all the while knowing that the other guy would be going through -- or already had -- the very same debriefing with the very same friend.
Still, Drey found himself at the Snow Goose Pub, looking for one Milton Parring on what would have otherwise been a quiet Saturday night with a good book or possibly a scary movie. Saying no to Ruby was more trouble than any blind date could be awkward -- which she no doubt knew -- and Drey hadn't really even contemplated going down that road.
Ruby had set the entire thing up. From where they would meet down to what they would wear. Drey had tried to point out that jeans with gray t-shirts wouldn't exactly stand out, it was pretty standard fare if you weren't in clubbing gear, but Ruby didn't care. Pointing out that he didn't want to be dressed just like his date had made no impact on her either. He'd foregone the argument that he was a grown man who was perfectly capable of making his own decisions when it came to dressing. He knew that would have had the same legs as all his other arguments, in other words, none.
So there he was, at the Snow Goose, searching through the Saturday night crowd for some poor sap dressed just like he was. ENDEXCERPT