Fried Brice

15 Apr

I met Brice two months ago now. K and I decided to go on a very impromptu ski trip with my church. It was the dead of February, I was sick of going to the same bar every week and we needed to get out of town. So we signed up and headed up to Devil’s Head, Wisconsin on a Friday night, not realizing it would turn into the pinnacle of our winter. I can’t remember when or where on the trip I first met Brice, but on the second day we got all dolled up and headed down to the main resort for a big group dinner. After dinner we had a worship service and all I will ever remember about the entire evening was turning my head to glance over my shoulder to catch eyes with Brice and literally feeling my heart skip two beats in my chest. I was certain, for at least five full seconds, that it was instant attraction. I felt like I already knew him.

He came up to me afterwards and said something about how I looked like Emma Stone (completely not true – he could have easily come up with something better). We danced around each other with casual conversation, but I still felt like I was missing something, like this situation had already happened and I was reliving it. I thought maybe this was what it could feel like when you finally stumble upon the right person, when all of the pieces finally fall into place and the world stops spinning around you.

Then it got awkward.

We headed out to the bar with a group of about twenty or so. Brice was nowhere to be found. Three beers later, he showed up, picking to sit next to me at a long table filled with people. I quickly found out he doesn’t drink, he silently judged me as I did. Which leads me to my life predicament of 2011.

I’d like to think that drinking isn’t that important to me, an unnecessary element to my life. But that would be lying. Not drinking one zilch of alcohol in your entire life is so far from my personality that it would leave a gap so big between Brice and me that we wouldn’t even be able to hear each other yelling from opposite sides. And nothing can part that Jordan River.

I was listening to the E & K show one morning on the way to work and they brought up a good predicament. Would you rather:

A. Date someone who doesn’t drink

B. Date someone who has the taste buds of a five year old

C. Date someone who doesn’t make a peep of sound in bed

If you picked option A, you’re wrong. Fail. Study and take the test again. Also, if you picked C you’re probably a loser, but that’s a whole other issue and definitely one you need to figure out without me.

Back to Brice, it had been a good solid two months of pondering my predicament and ignoring his calls/text/shouts at me from across church. And, yes, you can blame it on the alcohol. We’d seen each other here and there in group settings, but I just couldn’t settle on the idea of actually dating someone who doesn’t drink. Is this a problem of my generation? What would first dates be like without alcohol involved? I imagine them to be almost nonexistent, except in eHarmony commercials.

This week, in the midst of the first whisper of summer air, I let myself go and agreed to go out with him alone. Also, I was really hungry. But you know what? It was nice. Natural. When he drove me home at 5 miles per hour because he wanted to talk about his new car, I even found it endearing.

Maybe it was because I had been drinking.


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