Lipstick Optional

You know that nervous feeling in your stomach -- a little fluttery with anticipation, excited, and also dreading that you'll say the wrong thing -- that you get (or got) just before a first date? That mental checklist: Is my lipstick all right? Do I have three good conversation-starters? Is my outfit hip enough without looking like I'm trying too hard?

And then, the doozy of them all: what if I don't recognize him/her? or what if we have nothing to talk about because we've never actually met fact to face? (Don't tell me you never went on a blind date out of pity for a friend who was dying to go out with Bicycle Shop Guy but wasn't sure she should go to a dance club with him alone since she'd only ever talked to him in the bright light of day in the perfectly safe bike shop where he was repairing her tire. We all went on those -- invariably awful -- Good Friend Dates, didn't we?)

Anyway, try to recall those feelings if you can because I dredged up all of them one day last week. Yes, all that excited nervousness afflicted my gut, and those paranoid questions ran through my little head. Not because I was cheating on my husband, but because I was going for real, grown-up, no-children-involved-for-this-one-short-night-of-my-family-vacation, drinks with Marinka.

Although I'm sure she would laugh at me to know this, I actually fretted about the fact that I was not wearing make-up. Oh, I had make-up with me. But it was one of those running arund in Central Park with the kids kind of days, so I'd cleverly thought I would wait until after the family dinner to apply a little wake-up potion (aka eyeliner) to my face, so that it wouldn't simply smudge and wear off. Of course, I had lipstick with me. But then, family dinner ran late, and kids had to have 346 hugs goodbye before I could leave for the subway, and then I felt like I would look like a total idiot (not to mention potentially put out my eye with the mascara wand) if I tried to apply makeup while riding the subway. And then I got to my station and had to figure out which direction to walk the six blocks to the bar. And by then I was worried enough that I wouldn't recognize her (since I was pretty sure she wasn't going to be sitting with her back to the door wearing a wedding veil) that I forgot to put on any lipstick.

Which is how I ended up walking into the bar with a completely nude face (which is my normal MO, you understand, but I was going to dress up for Marinka), smiling brightly at the pretty about-the-right-age blond sitting alone at a table by the door, and saying in a cheerful, hopeful voice, "Marinka?" -- whereupon said blond shook her head at me a little grimly (I'm sure she thought I was hitting on her) and then smiled too brightly at her jacket-wearing date who swept through the door about 30 seconds after me.

Thankfully, there was a table in the corner that I could slink into, and then Marinka herself arrived for real, and she was completely normal and nice and funny and also seemed to feel a little like she was on a blind date for the first few minutes, which, perversely, set me at ease and made me forget completely about the fact that five minutes before I'd been pretty sure that all women in New York knew better than to go anywhere without lipstick on and therefore she would hardly be able to hear what I was saying through the distraction of my up-lipsticked lips.

There were moments when she could hardly hear what I was saying.

But that was only because the bar was loud and the schmancy cosmopolitans we were drinking were so very cosmopolitan.

We talked kids and vacations and jobs and even Thomas trains -- the mere mention of which made Marinka roll her eyes back into her head and swear she needed another drink -- score ZERO for the blind date conversation starter! -- and yet she still continued to sit and talk to me.

Here's what I've learned: blind dates are way scarier than meeting someone you "know" online for cocktails. Of course, that presupposes that the someone you know online is actually who she says she is and not really a beefy ex-con who lives on a hill with 37 cats and enjoys cross-dressing. But, in all honesty, it was hilarious and fun and sometimes serious, and I wish that there were someway to convince the New York transit authority to extend the 4/5 line into southeast Michigan because it sure would be convenient to be able to jump on the subway any time I want a good drink and some great conversation.