The phrase “hanging out” has confused me for years. I use it when referring to getting together with friends. Girl friends. And boy friends. (Even though we all know there’s really no such thing.) I “hang out” with people all the time. This is different from dating.
Hanging out is the equivalent to eating off the free sample plate at your local coffee shop. Sure, you don’t have to commit to one purchase, but you are sharing that same cookie with everyone else. Not really my style. Not everyone washes their hands. I prefer studying the cookies. Inquiring about them. Making a decision. And buying my own. Then, if I don’t like it, I can always buy another. Naturally, I don’t “hang out” with men. I go on dates with them. And since the art of dating seems to be lost on my generation, I am reintroducing the term. A date, as defined by me:
1. Occurs on a weekend night
2. Involves transportation
3. Effort in attire
4. Is arranged at least 24 hours in advance. By phone. Not text.
This leads me to my update. Tonight. I am going on a date. With a man. Set up two days beforehand. Over the phone. He is picking me up. I’m wearing high heels. And even though my date admits that he gave up on baseball in 1988, I’m still willing to give him a chance. See what a difference a phone call makes?