A Date without a Doorstep Scene

Tales from the life of the Keeper of the Blog

One night, at the end of a date, a boy dropped me off at my house.

And when I say 'dropped off,' I mean he stopped the car and just waited for me to get out. It was like we hadn't even been on a date, like we just happened to be going to the same concert that night and decided to carpool.

I have never been a fan of the doorstep scene, but can I tell you, the 'drop off' is worse. True, you avoid all decisions about whether or not to engage in super awkward post-date physical contact, and you skip the painfully long 'I had a great time' conversation, but walking yourself to the door after a date is just lame--I mean, if you're a girl--I guess guys do it all the time.

At first, I wasn't sure what was going on. He stopped the car in front of my house (not in the completely empty driveway?) and just sat there. So I sat there. I said a few "thank you's" (which I actually did mean because the concert we went to was completely awesome) and then sort of waited. He didn't move. So I put my hand on the door handle. He didn't move. I opened the door part way. He didn't move. I opened the door the rest of the way. I looked at him, waiting for him to say something, do something. He did nothing. I set one foot out the door. Still nothing. I got all the way out of the car. He was a statue.

"Well, goodnight," I said.

"Goodnight."

I shut the car door and walked across my lawn. It was dark outside, and I generally avoid going out by myself in the dark--it totally creeps me out--but apparently a date is no guarantee that you will be safely escorted to your front door. So I got to my porch, pulled out my keys, unlocked my door, and walked inside, still a little stunned. I looked back, and he was already gone.