A date is only a type of fig, Schmooie

I hate, with a passion, the word “date.” Maybe it’s the fact that I’m currently visiting family back East, and it annoys the hell out of me to hear my mom use the word “date” around me. Sometimes, she’ll even use the phrase “dream date” as a joke, something her brother used to say to her to annoy her when she was searching for her own Schmooie. In any case, I hate the word “date.” Here’s my gripe: What constitutes a date? I love visiting my friends, going to their homes for BBQ’s or going out with them to restaurants. Why can I get together for drinks, dinners, movies with friends and it’s not considered a “date”? If I go shopping with a girlfriend, why is that not considered a “date”? Why does that word have to be thrown around if two single people go somewhere together? Alright then, if a date is two single people doing something together, how come that time I spent two hours chatting with a Jewish French Dude in a parking lot isn’t considered a date? Is it because we were just in a parking lot? If we had gone for coffee at the end of our parking lot excursion, would it suddenly have been considered a date?

To be honest, all the hilarious adventures I have posted about on this here blog, I do not actually consider to be “dates.” The word, to me, implies romance. I’ve felt no romance toward any of these Schmooie wanna-be’s, even if their goals have been to extend some sort of romance toward me.

I shared this gripe of mine, this hatred of the word “date,” with a friend who gave me his own interpretation. He told me a date is when two people agree to meet somewhere and do something together. So even two girlfriends just going out for an afternoon of coffee and shopping is a “date” because they have both agreed to do something together at a specific time and place. Makes sense. It’s not romantic unless you call it a “romantic date.” Again, makes sense. Except, how do you establish with the other person whether it’s a “romantic date”or not. Something like that, I suppose, is unspoken and goes without saying. The problem here, though, is that often times, the Schmooie wanna-be views the outing as a “romantic date” and I do not. The other problem is that my mom, my girlfriends, and anyone else I talk to views my outings with Schmooie wanna-be’s as “romantic dates.” Perhaps, the word “date” was invented merely so other people, the ones not directly involved, can live vicariously through the person who’s Searching for Schmooie. Would someone just calm down already and realize that a date is merely a glorified fig!