Tuesday, March 20, 2012

the short story of Captain Awesome: part one

A while ago, I was set up on a date with a boy whom I fondly refer to as Captain Awesome. For anonymity's sake, I'm going to keep referring to him as such. Actually, I'll probably shorten it to C.A. for laziness' sake.

I agreed to go on this date with him with very little information about him. The rumor was that he was possibly 2 years younger than me and from England. I figured, worse case scenario: I spend the night enjoying his accent and we call it good. And really, I was going so that my roommate and her date had someone to double with. I was running late that night, so when I got home I threw on my go-to pencil skirt and top, and put my hair in a low side ponytail. Oh, and I chose my purple flats in case he was a shorty.

The boys knocked on the door and I quickly sprayed myself with my fave Apricot Vanilla body spray and walked into the living room to find a six-foot-five rugby player with a jaw line that could give Channing Tatum's jaw line a run for it's money. (Let's be honest, Channing Tatum's jaw line is wealthy.) And, he was there to pick me up. You better believe I wished I had taken more time to get ready and worn heels. 

As we walked down the stairs, he offered me a chocolate bar along with an apology that it wasn't 'English chocky'. I was pretty much speechless. Throughout the drive to dinner, I found out that he actually grew up in South Africa, currently lived in the United Kingdom, was born while his parents were on 'holiday' in Utah, was only a couple months younger than me, and is a pilot. Over our dinner conversation, I learned that his sister is an Olympic gold medalist, he also surfs, served a full-time mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and backpacked through China on family vacations as a child. Oh, and his father is rich. 

And Ashton Kutcher never jumped out to say I was being punked. Serious. 

We enjoyed talking all through dinner and as we walked back to my apartment from the car, my roommate's date invited us to a party the next night. I hesitated, because I sort of had plans, but then C.A. said (in his ever-so-beautiful South African accent) "Oh, it would be lovely to see you again. Will you please come?" So, of course, I melted and agreed. (Note to self: foreign boys can pull off the word 'lovely'.) The boys walked us up to our door and C.A. asked for my phone number so that he could give me the information about the party the next night. 

I later found out that as he walked down the stairs he turned to his friend and said "I have got to see her again." Then he texted me so that I'd have his phone number and I went to bed smiling. 

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