I’m single, and I’ve not had good first dates. In one of my favorite films, Hannah and Her Sisters, Mickey, played by Woody Allen, tells his drunken date, “  Ihad a great time. It was like the Nuremburg Trials.” Mickey’s sentiments echo my own after my last few first dates.

During one first date, my suitor, Bob, decided he needed to make a quick stop at the grocery store for coffee. I didn’t mind. I thought we might pick up some wine and cheese. A single rosef rom the floral department might make its way into the basket. For Bob,however, this was his opportunity to do his weekly shopping. Horrified, I let him proceed and waited by the checkout counter for his return. Perched on top of his basket was a jumbo box of corn pads. Corn pads! I didn’t want to know or think about his corny toes! After this incident, I renamed him Corn pad Bob.

At another first date, Dave (a man I’d met on the Internet) and I went to a state park and hiked atop a butte. The sun began to set, so we walked down the butte and set out in my car to leavethe park. At the park’s entrance, we found the gate to be locked. Dave managed to jimmy the lock and we broke out of the park only to find a ticket under my windshield wipers. The ticket (which included my license plate number) informed us that we needed to see the park ranger in order to leave.

So we had to break back into the park, relock the gate, and head to the park ranger’s cabin. I donned a southern-girl drawl and an air of innocence and confusion (he probably though tI was high) with the ranger to convince him to let us out without a fine. Dave swore me to secrecy about the night’s events because, he then told me, he was the new principal of the local high school and couldn’t be caught committing a crime like breaking out of and into a state park. I renamed him Principal-ed Dave.

So when Blake asked me out a few weeks ago, I didn’t have high hopes for the date. Besides, I’d already had a taste of Montana men, and I wasn’t happy with the flavor. A friend told me that the dating pool in Dillon is wide but shallow, and after a trip to the mall, I believe the saying may hold true in Butte as well.

As I was strolling in Herbergers’ home section, a man in his 40s approached me and asked, “Do you know where a bachelor like me could find curtains?” I looked at him, blinked, and replied, “Wal-Mart.” As I walked away, it occurred to me that he was hitting on me. Do bachelors have special curtain needs, or was he trying to tell me he was available? It was the latter, if I read the situation correctly. I shuddered.

I made a quick purchase and was onmy way out when a younger man stopped me to ask for directions to the mall entrance. I told him I was headed that way and that he could follow me. And then he started to chat me up, asking where I was from and such.

Unbelievable. Hit on twice in thespace of five minutes. Is Herbergers a breeding ground for singletons or am I just extremely unlucky?

I managed to ditch the guy at women’sshoes by refusing to pass by a strappy Anne Klein sandal without inspection. I was horrified by it all. Was this what it had come to? Fending off potential suitors while shopping for dishcloths and socks? Hmm. Maybe I should have whipped out the dish towel I had just purchased to flick him in the arm.

It reminded me of the time a random guy asked me out in the parking lot of Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart. Where would the relationship go from there? The parking lot of Safeway? Would we ever go insidea store, or would we merely lean uncomfortably against our cars while eating kettlecorn?

What happened to finesse? What happened to charm? What happened to not stalking women in malls or in parking lots?

But Blake seemed like a nice guy and not at all inclined to buy Dr. Scholl’s items, commit a felony, or risk a smarmy pick-up line.

I was nervous, though, so I had a beer (or two) before he picked me up. Waiting on my balcony, I thought I’d wave down as he drove up, indicating that he wouldn’t have to ring the bell. As he got out of the car, however, I noticed he was carrying a bouquet of flowers. Not wanting to spoil his surprise, I quickly ducked down and crawled inside on my hands and knees. Not a terrific start (on my part, at least).

He took me to Jackson to the hot springs. The drive was pleasant and the conversation never lagged, so I became overconfident. My mistake. I had another beer with my supper (fabulous potato soup, by the way),and we chatted easily about favorite books and movies.

On the drive home, however, it all fell to pieces. Blake was driving slowly and cautiously. He said that deer had a tendency to jump from the side of the road at night, and since he had once broadsided a cow (who totaled his car) he wasn’t anxious to repeat the experience. Indeed, a deer did jump out in front of the car ahead of us, but we were able to watch Bambi dart safely into the sagebrush. A few miles down the road, though, a rabbit did not meet with a similar fate.

Bugs Bunny hopped into our lane and thump, thump, that was the end of the little guy. I slid down in my seat and shuddered convulsively, but Blake drove on casually, as though nothing had happened. In my grand tradition of renaming my suitors, I decided to call him Dead Bugs Blake.

As he drove up to my apartment, I called an end to the date. Not only was I a little scarred from our brush with death (well, Bugs’ brush with death), but also, the beers in my tummy had started to ferment angrily. As author Dante Aligheri would put it, a trumpet would be made of my backside.

So I jumped from the car, said a quick goodnight, and bolted upstairs before anything could slip.

The next day, Blake called to thank me for our date. He was also a little curious as to why I left the car so quickly the night before. Self-righteously (and not about to admit my gaseousness) I told him I was a little upset about the bunny-hitting incident. He apologized but reminded me that he had, in fact, gone out of his way toavoid hitting a badger on the way to the resort. Oh. I had forgotten about that. He told me he should be renamed Dodging Badger Blake.

And I agreed. And then I came cleanand told him about my musical backside.

Our second date was the next day.