Prepare to have your minds blown: Ice skating is an overrated date idea. Just kidding, I feel like anyone who has ever gone on an ice skating date can attest to this with both vigor and passion. But these folks are usually plagued by the upsetting reality that once they tread upon the ice that ice skating is, well, hard and slippery and kind of embarrassing when you’re bad at it — not to mention, painful when you fall. What makes me different? What allows me to become to the spokesperson, the frontman for off-rink activities? Not to toot my own horn (toot-toot), but i’m a phenomenal skater. My dad lived in Montreal for several years, where it is literally winter 365 days a year, and basically raised my sister and I to become snow-sport aficionados. Thus, I live to snowball fight. I swear by the sled. I am the Persian Michelle Kwan.
So, why am I so anti-ice skating date if I could use such an occasion to show off my prowess? In theory, ice skating dates sound super romantic. I picture myself nonchalantly skating backwards, holding my partner’s hands and swiveling around the rink, while singing "I Can Show You The World" from hit Disney classic Aladdin. But in actuality, the date falls flat. I should know — I have been on many ice skating dates throughout my limited lifetime. When I was in college, the fraternity that the majority of my friends just happened to be in would host an annual ice skating date party during rush. And I would accompany one of the brothers to this date night. Every. Single. Year.
Let’s see. One year, I went with a friend who perhaps had ulterior motives or mixed intentions — in other words, may have wanted to become something more. A lover of skating on ice, I wholeheartedly agreed to the date. However, a few minutes in, my date’s shoe lace came untied, causing him to take an incredibly brutal fall that involved sliding on his stomach for a gruesome minute and a half. We spent the majority of the night tending to his injuries. Needless to say, the date was not dripping with romance — just chin blood. We remained "just friends."
The next year, I accompanied a different friend — one who knew we would never amount to anything more. This meant that while he was bringing me as his date, he was planning on using the evening as an opportunity to get to know the rushes — or more accurately, their dates. I would have been totally OK with this (I love to wingman my guy friends) — had it not meant that he would be moving at a glacial pace, no pun intended. He grabbed one of those tiny penguin ice-walkers meant for kids, and went to town. I abandoned him and zoomed around the rink to my own internal soundtrack, like the true ice princess that I am.
My third time attending this event, I actually came rather close to having my "Frozen: On Ice" moment, had it not been for a grave misunderstanding. A tangential friend, who would later become my current partner, would text me the day of asking if I had found a date for the party. I was excited in a OMG-I-didn’t-know-he-thought-of me-like-that-LOL-this-is-awkward-but-I-guess-he’s-kind-of-cute way, but as it turns out, he wasn’t asking for himself. He had a friend visiting from England for the weekend, and it was he who needed a date. So, he was just hoping that I could ask one of my girlfriends out on his behalf. I ended up attending the party with the same date as the year prior, and pulled a full-on Scrooge for the entirety of the evening.
The day of my very last college ice skating date party, I had hope. I was dating the same guy I’d hoped would ask my last year, who I was sure would appreciate my Olympic-level moves. Unfortunately, it was parents’ weekend, so my partner would be bringing two dates — both me, and his mother. This didn’t upset me per se: In fact, I really liked his mom and was excited that the audience for ice show was about to expand. But I had made the grave mistake of drinking to excess the night before, and wasn’t feeling too hot. On my way to the rink, I had to take a quick reprieve to vomit into a nearby trash can — just as my partner, his mom, and the rest of party turned the corner. Needless to say that as his new girlfriend, I was on thin ice.
Are you convinced that ice skating dates only end in havoc and heartbreak for all? No, not yet? Please, call me, DM me, if you wanna reach me, so I can tell you all about my ice skating date in college who injured his leg and couldn’t get on the ice, but felt so much FOMO that he ended up sneaking onto the rink in sneakers, only to get kicked off by security. Seriously you guys, I’ve seen it all. I am seasoned in the art of being disappointed in skates. I haven’t even begun to walk you through my years of attending my high school’s annual gala on ice. Alas, I’ll spare you of that misery.
In conclusion, I love the holidays. I adore cozying up with a mug of hot chocolate (the melted kind, none of that milk and powder BS) and watching Elf on the couch. I treasure going sledding off that big hill in the middle of Central Park, after New York’s first snowfall. I genuinely revere decorating the tree, buying and exchanging gifts, and ordering off of the Starbucks holiday menu — more than the average person. But I hate ice skating dates. I can’t stand them, you guys. And I don’t care if you call me a grinch. Be my guest! But don’t come crying back to me when you’re fall-la-la-la-la-ing in front of your crush, and your face turns as red as Rudolph’s very shiny nose.
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