Remember Nick the Strict – the handsome, athletic, good-with-kids church volunteer who thought it was a good idea to take me running for our second date (um, false) and then condemned painting images of Jesus as idolatry (negatory, bro)?
Those of you who are regular readers might be concerned for my sanity and emotional well being (always a legitimate concern, regardless of the presence of Nick the Strict in my life), but don’t worry. Nick the Strict is only back in my life; not in my love life. I’m not that crazy.
You may recall that Nick is a junior high math teacher. You may also recall that I recently posted about how I am now volunteering to coach Math Club at a local middle school. And the more brilliant of you may by now have put two-and-two together and realized that – yes – it was Nick the Strict who got me involved in my math coaching gig.
Nick called me out of the blue on a Saturday in early January. I hadn’t heard from him since our fiasco of a last date several months ago, but I answered. He was at a weekend math competition and confessed to me, “These kids are little geniuses, but I don’t know how to lead them. We need someone like you who has competed in this kind of arena before.”
I thought about it, prayed about it, and realized that I hadn’t been so excited about anything in a long time. Pretty nerdy to get stoked about teaching math to kids, but there you have it. A week later, I was in a classroom teaching kids about doing base conversions in their heads.
It only took about two weeks for Nick the Strict to make another pass at dating me. He sent me a text one evening: “Hey Aurora. Would you like to join me for dinner after math club on Thursday? I want to try this new steakhouse near the school.”
I knew my answer the instant I saw the text, but I took my time in crafting a diplomatic response: “I like steak. 🙂 How do you feel about going Dutch?”
I waited with anxious anticipation for how he would respond to my delicate rejection of his pseudo-date request. So when I saw his text reply light up the screen on my iPhone, I just sighed and rolled my eyes. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Nick the Strict was never the most brilliant of my suitors.
“What? Lol, I don’t know any Dutch steak houses at all.”
Oh, Nick. Don’t you know that “going Dutch” has nothing to do with windmills or wooden shoes?
I sent him a screenshot of an online dictionary’s definition of what it means to go Dutch. His response: “I would like to treat you. However, if you feel you want to pay for yourself, no problem. We could go dutch at a casual Italian place next door.”
So now that it’s clearly no longer a date, you don’t want to go to the steakhouse at all. Nice.
“That’s okay,” I told him. “I’ll just come teach, and we’ll leave it at that.”
Why does everything in life have to be so complicated?