“Hey… I think we could try dating each other.”
As I read the menu, I looked up with wide eyes at her words from across the table. Had I heard that wrong? I hadn’t expected to hear anything like this today. She seemed surprised by her own words too, meeting my gaze with a shy smile.
During my first blind date ever, I was late. We had planned to meet at a cafe near the train station that I had quickly looked up. On the day of the date, I texted her: “Sorry, the subway suddenly stopped.” But the truth was, I was late because I had another meeting before the date. Did she really believe my excuse about the subway? Looking back now, I wonder about that.
The cafe was packed with people. It was too loud to talk easily. Car horns kept honking outside through the open windows, which were letting in fresh air. Even for a weekend, this cafe was unusually busy. It was a terrible place for a first blind date. I regret quickly picking this place just because it was near the station.
When I arrived 30 minutes late, I started talking awkwardly. We had the usual first-date chat – about our jobs, hobbies, and other basic things. I can’t remember exactly what we discussed, but at least we kept talking. We even stayed for dinner and drinks before saying goodbye.
The whole date was a disaster. Later, I found out it was her first blind date too, so she must have been just as nervous as I was. While I remember how messy everything was, she also mostly remembered feeling nervous and awkward herself. I got lucky there.
I met her a few more times after our first date. My friends always said you should meet at least three times after a blind date – it’s just polite. I went without really caring, and she came too. Later, when we were dating, I learned she just had trouble saying “no.” Looking back, she probably wasn’t interested in me either.
After a few dates, I started to like her more and more. I was young and my heart was full of feelings. One night on the bus ride home, watching the city lights pass by through the window, I took a chance and asked her, “Can we date for real?” The quiet hum of the bus engine filled the air as she sat there thinking. Then, softly touching my arm, she asked if we could get off at the next stop – somewhere halfway home.
It was a perfect summer night, just the sound of cars passing and cicadas chirping. I noticed she had chosen this quiet spot carefully. My stomach turned into knots as we stood there. Deep down, I knew this wouldn’t be good news. After what felt like the longest silence, she looked up at me with gentle eyes and softly said, “I’m sorry.”
Even though she had clearly rejected me, we ended up meeting one more time. During our second date, it had rained, and I had forced her to take my umbrella since she didn’t have one. We met so I could get my umbrella back, and while I was carefully reading the menu at a hamburger place, she said to me:
“Hey… I think we could try dating each other.”
I was surprised by these completely unexpected words, and I think she was surprised too. Later, she told me that she had originally planned to just return the umbrella and leave. But she couldn’t refuse my suggestion to have one last meal together, and as she watched me carefully reading the hamburger menu, the words just popped out. She too, without any expectations or preparation.
Life often throws unexpected surprises our way. Like when you get back a test result you thought you’d failed, or when you get accepted to a job you were sure you wouldn’t get. My first blind date was just like that.
As we get older, most daily events become predictable. Time gives us a certain ability to see what’s coming. But still, like a “Blue Moon,” unexpected things happen now and then, and we live hoping for these surprises. That’s what makes life interesting.
I wonder why they named a beer flavored with orange peel “Blue Moon”? Wouldn’t “Orange Moon” make more sense? Actually, “Blue Moon” doesn’t even really mean the color blue.
Looking at Blue Moon’s logo reminds me of a Van Gogh painting. And when I look at that painting, I think I understand why the creators chose the name “Blue Moon.”
Ah… they wanted to capture the unexpected.
When my friend first tasted Blue Moon, he described its taste in one word: “Soap.”
Setting aside the question of whether he’d ever actually eaten soap, the fact that I knew exactly what he meant tells me that Blue Moon definitely has a soap-like taste. There’s simply no other way to describe that unexpected, mysterious flavor.
Of course, they didn’t actually put soap in Blue Moon – its taste comes from orange and coriander. Some people might say something fancy like: “The citrusy orange notes come through naturally and smoothly.”
But in my ten years of drinking Blue Moon, I’ve never once thought of or created such an elegant review. For me, Blue Moon is all about that unique, unexpected, mysterious taste that hits you every time. Strangely, even after drinking it for ten years, I still can’t pinpoint exactly what it tastes like, and every sip feels unexpected.
On days when I’m really craving a beer, when I desperately need that perfect “first drink,” I choose Blue Moon, and I’m usually happy with that choice. Since I can never quite predict the taste, that first sip still fills me with mystery and joy.
But Blue Moon’s problem is always what comes after. Sadly, it can’t maintain that “incomprehensible and unpredictable mysterious taste” of the first sip. The taste drops off sharply after that initial moment. Come to think of it, unless it’s on sale, I’ve never bought more than two or three Blue Moons at once – this must be the main reason why. It’s just not a beer you can drink for long.
The reason Blue Moon’s appeal doesn’t last isn’t really about the taste – it’s because its unexpected uniqueness simply “doesn’t last long.” While Blue Moon charms you with the freshness and novelty of that first sip, this same charm fades with each repetition. It’s actually similar to how life’s unexpected surprises and small miracles gradually become familiar and dull with time.
The story I mentioned about her and me didn’t end well. Like many couples, we burned bright at first, but that fire quickly cooled into familiarity. She grew disappointed as she became used to who I really was, and I felt the same way. We fought a lot and broke up in that predictable way.
The breakup was hard, but eventually I went back to blind dates, searching for someone new. I looked forward to each new meeting, and these choices were always filled with excitement, but they all ended in disappointment. Still, I kept starting over. Just like how I keep going back to Blue Moon despite knowing its letdown.
Blue Moon is like life’s little surprises – always fresh and unique at first taste. There’s that magical moment of the first sip, followed by the slow fade into familiar disappointment. Yet somehow, this strange brew keeps pulling me back, time after time.
Each time I reach for a Blue Moon, I know exactly what’s coming – that wonderful first moment, and then the letdown that always follows. Still, on nights when I’m searching for something special, I find myself at the convenience store, picking up that familiar bottle. Maybe this time will be different, I think, just like I thought with every new blind date after her. It never is, but that’s not really the point. Sometimes the beauty isn’t in the lasting – it’s in those brief, unexpected moments that catch us by surprise. Like a Blue Moon, or three simple words across a table ”Let’s give it a try “
