First

Thirty-five minutes ago I asked a guy out.

Now, I've never done this before. I know a lot of you gals are super cool and have casually asked guys to dinner, but not me. Fearless Sarah shrivels to a mewling bundle of nerves at the thought of approaching a guy I like. My usual policy is either I'll be so awkward around him I'll eventually fade into the wallpaper, or I'll just smile a lot and maybe he'll get the picture.

Yeah, so I'm not big with the flirting.

Anyway, there's this guy. I met him a year ago at a party and we yakked each other's ears off for an hour or so. He gave me his number, drew me a map to his church, and invited me to attend. Then he never picked up the phone, didn't have voicemail, didn't return my call, and wasn't at the church. Then the next few times I ran into him he never seemed to remember my name. Oh well, figures.

But last semester he remembered my name. He called MP while she was at my apartment baking cookies to get my number (she evilly handed the phone to me) and got directions to my house to bring me leftover roast beef for my lunches (and it was excellent roast beef. It had fresh basil in it). He stood around in my kitchen, towering over my refrigerator (this guy is tall -- I feel like, well, like a woman standing next to him) and grinning and talking. When I saw him at social events we always wound up in an extended conversation.

Sometime around the past weekend I realized I like him. Could like him a lot. And enlisted my friends for scouting and support. Everyone concluded that he likes me, but being a humanities student would never take the initiative, so I should. Then in an unexpected phone conversation with my dad, Daddy exploded into this sudden, "If you want him, GO FOR HIM. You deserve whatever you want. You're fabulous, and funny, and smart, and beautiful, and sweet, and you never sit around. So don't sit around. If you want him, go for him."

Thanks to all those wingwomen and my awesome father, I took the bull by the horns, bit the bullet, stepped up to the plate, threw my hat in the ring, faced the firing squad, and called him.

And he said yes.

He's out of town for the present, but said he'd be back in South Bend on Saturday, and that he'd call me when he knew his exact schedule. So there's no definite plan yet, but a definite plan to have a plan.

And now I'm freaking out. I'll be drifting along in my usual absentminded fog, when it will suddenly occur to me that I ASKED A GUY OUT and I'll freeze and squeal like a girl when a boy drops an ice cube down her collar. (Poor Marianne. She's been the pep squad for this evening's stint and she has to listen to the freezing and the squealing every five minutes or so.)

She says she doesn't mind.

So internally I'm whooping up a storm, but I don't want to be giddy and gushy all over a blog post.

So we'll leave it at that.

Now if only I could shut up the voice in my head that keeps saying, He only said yes to be nice...