Sometimes, It’s Nice to Be Delusional

Last week, a work colleague asked me to dinner. I knew it probably wasn’t a date - nothing in his demeanor or mine suggests a willingness to flirt on the job. But he’s cute and age appropriate and had no wedding ring. So I let myself be intrigued, maybe even excited about it.

Once the seed of ‘maybe this is a date’ had been planted, I found myself daydreaming about this cutie, knowing we have a few things in common already (including a love of food). He even popped up in my real dreams the night before dinner - nothing racy, but there was a feeling of warmth and comfort upon waking.

When the day for dinner arrived, I strategically planned when to wash my hair for optimal curls. I put on more makeup than usual. I selected a dress that was neither a date dress nor strictly a work dress. I obsessed about my footwear.

Our dinner went off without a hitch, except maybe one: he has a partner. He asked me to dinner because he truly just wanted to get to know me, as a work colleague. Which, again, I knew. I knew it wasn’t a date.

But when I look at the highlights of the evening, I’m happy with my own ‘date’ aspects of it. I had an excuse to get gussied up, try out a makeup look I had been meaning to experiment with, eat at a restaurant I love, with a great conversationalist, and I didn’t pay for it. All in all, better than many, many dates I’ve been on. A successful evening, even if it was not romantic.

Walking home, I realized that the net positive night out was just that: positive. And a part of that came from being just a little bit delusional about the date potential of the dinner. I let myself have the littlest bit of hope (something that has been in short supply recently) which led to me having a great experience, even if the outcome was a little different. It was a disappointment, but it wasn’t a let down.

The spring in my step all the way home told me: sometimes it’s nice to be delusional.