Third dates, dogs and raising the Bounty bar

"So you're giving away your dad's recipe already, huh?" The cop asked as he saw me pull my "secret" ingredients out of the Randall's grocery sack and line them up on his kitchen counter.

It was our third date, and I had agreed to drive to his place for dinner and a movie, but only on one condition. My two dogs had to make the trek with me. They stared up at me from my feet, tails wagging, hoping I'd drop a piece of food in their direction. I smiled. They looked happy here, in this stranger's kitchen.

"I told you I make an amazing burger. And these are the only ingredients he uses," I said as I opened a bottle of worcestershire sauce and a seasoning packet.

"So you're saying that if I don't like your burgers, I'm insulting your dad already? Man. The pressure's on," he teased.

"That's exactly right," I said. "So you better like 'em. And if you don't, you better lie."

He grinned and gave me a peck on the cheek as I tried to gracefully unwrap a pound of ground hamburger meat. There was nothing graceful about it though, and I accepted my fate. My hands were covered in raw meat as I mixed the ingredients together and flattened out patties between my palms, but he didn't seem to notice. He was still smiling at me.

When he finally did quit looking in my direction, it was to open the fridge and pull out a package of fresh turkey deli meat.

Before I had time to question his choice (did he not like my burgers already? I hadn't even put them on the grill yet!), he held a piece of turkey close to the ground.

"How about a treat? You want a treat?"

Oh. My. God. He was a natural. My dogs scampered over to him as quickly as possible and wolfed down the two slices of turkey. He pet them both on the head and then started smiling at me again.

I didn't want to let him know how much I had enjoyed seeing him do that. You win over my dogs, you win me over, too. I had to be smart about this. I had to play coy. But inside, my heart was grinning.

I finished crafting the hamburger patties and put them on a plate to transfer them to the grill. I made my way over to the sink to wash my filthy hands. I applied loads of soap and rinsed them clean. Before I knew it, he was behind me.

With a paper towel. Already torn. For me. He was always one step ahead of me. But in a good way.

I'm not sure why that made such a heavy impact on me. As I was recalling that scene to my (happily married) sister a day later, she picked up on its sensitivity and considerateness, but was quick to bring me back down to reality.

"Hun, I'm so glad he did that for you. I'm just so saddened that's the kind of thing that blows you away. A paper towel! You should have someone do that kind of thing for you and more -- every day."

She had a point. I had to raise the bar if I was going to find someone and take this seriously --  to take me seriously.

I had to raise my Bounty (Quicker Picker Upper) bar.