First dates come in a full range of outcomes; they can be terribly boring and awkward, or weird, ridiculous interactions that your friends will not believe, or fun and familiar, and when you hit the jackpot, exciting, romantic even.
I was ten minutes early when I exited the metro, and for a split second, I contemplated the idea of going back home. I would text him that I wasn’t feeling well. As I headed slowly towards our meeting point, I spotted him in the crowd. He looked taller in the pictures. I faked a smile and waved hello.
We started walking to our destination. We’d agreed to go to a cute little museum garden that has a coffee shop. I had checked, and the cafe was open, and I was looking forward to tasting a freshly roasted coffee and perhaps indulge in a piece of cake.
But now I could tell he was taking us in the direction to the city’s main park. Faking a chilled tone in my voice, I asked, ‘where are we heading? He said, ‘oh, I like getting lost in the city’ Sure, I like that too, I thought, but is this your idea of getting lost? A walk in the most touristic part of the city? I didn’t say anything back.
I knew we didn’t get on from the first hello. But I decided to stick with it. Because we had been texting for 2 weeks, and I wanted my money’s worth back and because I want to believe in second chances.
You have no chemistry.
For a moment, he takes off his mask, and my eyes hover over his lips, and I instantly know I have no desire to kiss him. He’s relatively short with short hair, the colour of ash, and pale skin. His chosen accessories, a bag, and a scarf give off an air of overdressed or dressed to go to the Opera or dressed to impress. I’m unimpressed, needless to say.
I try to imagine what could be going on in his mind right now. Perhaps he thinks that I’m too casually dressed or look somehow different in my profile photos. Or that he can’t make my features because I don’t seem to want ever to take my mask off. Or that if I have big or small boobs, he’ll never find out with all these layers of clothing I am covered with.
In the passersby’s eyes, clearly, we don’t look like two people on the same date. We are two strangers brought here by accidental clicks and swipes and wishful thinking and exchanging texts and phone calls. Our dating-app-aided date does not pass the compatibility test.
He doesn’t buy you coffee.
We queued for coffee. He ordered a homemade lemonade, but they were out, so he got this berry-coloured cold beverage instead. I went to pay, thinking he would be a gentleman and insist that he pays. It’s our first date. He got out his wallet and gave me 4 euros in cash. I took them reluctantly, not knowing if he expected any change back. When I asked him what that drink was, he said he hated coffee and never knew what to order in coffee shops.
He was chit-chatting with the staff as I was wondering why I’m there and not home, snuggling with my dog on the sofa, writing or reading, or even staring at the walls because even that would be more fun than this date. I smiled, said my thanks, and we left the coffee shop.
We looked for a bench, but there was none available. I pointed to a nice shaded area where we could sit down on some steps. Clearly uncomfortable, he got on his knees and sat next to me. Minutes later, I saw two girls leaving and nudged him to sit on a bench. It must have been his highlight of our date—my highlight, watching him and I both struggling to get on our feet from the ground.
He doesn’t get you.
‘You look like you’re a rock singer,’ he said. I quickly reconsidered my outfit. I was wearing a printed top, a chunky knit in bright green colour, and my trusty skinny black jeans. It must be the boots and jacket, I thought. But it was a spring afternoon, and all of Paris is wearing a leather jacket on sunny spring days, too hot for coats. Unable to form a clever reply, I forced a grin.
Having spent the morning writing, I mentioned my passion for written words and how I’ve gotten back to it lately. He seemed to be paying attention; at least, he was nodding politely, but he didn’t make any comments, so I decided to move the spotlight to him.
I asked him to talk to me about his biggest dream. He mentioned making movies and how he had landed a job as a Production Assistant but ended up running errands, keeping people off of the streets they were filming, and making lousy coffee for actors. ‘I’m too old to have dreams,’ he added. ‘They don’t pay the bills.’
Must he think I’m a complete idiot to go after my dreams at 45? Do I want to be in a relationship with a man who’s stopped dreaming? I swiftly changed the subject.
The conversation does not flow naturally.
In the 2 weeks before meeting each other, he had been chatty and easy to talk to. So one thing I was not stressing about was whether we’d be having awkward silences and a dull conversation. He had been keen to call me, and on the few occasions that we’d spoken on the phone, he was asking me a lot of questions, he was laughing at my jokes, and he seemed rather charming.
Now I was getting this insincere vibe that he tried to engage in conversation, but he’d rather be elsewhere. As much as I tried not to overthink it, his nervous laughter at the coffee shop and later when a stranger asked if we minded sharing the bench were telling.
We introduce topics like they are songs we play on a jukebox. They seemingly have a loose connection but don’t really link with one another, they follow different rhythms and set different moods, and I’m left thinking we are out of sync. If this was a dance, we’d be messing up the steps, and I’d have accidentally stepped on him.
You have the urge to reach for your phone more than once.
One hour into the date, he needs to go to the toilet — thank you berry-whatever-drink-her’s-having — and I find myself instantly checking my phone. I have a policy not to reach for my phone while on a date, but my brain is in urgent need of stimulation. I’m scrolling on my Instagram feed and feel a rush of blood through my veins. I’m still alive! This too shall pass, I try to console myself, as I see his figure from afar and put my phone away.
You are in a rush to leave.
It’s getting cold, so we decide to get up and walk a bit. We arrive at a busy part of the city, and I see my favourite doughnut shop but thinking back on the coffee shop splitting the bill moment, I decided against it. Best to not extend this date anyway, I tell myself, and quickly forget about my urge for something sweet.
I take note of how many people around us are not wearing protective masks. Feeling slightly anxious, I tell him I’d rather not go that way, pointing to the direction of a bustling street, but he carries on walking.
He gets my hesitation, and I take the lead in changing direction. I’ve got a little plan in my head. We walk another 15 minutes or so before we conveniently arrive at a metro stop.
I’ve known from hello, but it’s an hour and a half later, and now it’s officially politically correct to put an end to our misery.
I give him another one of my forced smiles and say, ‘see you, and walk straight to the metro, not looking back.
—
This post was previously published on medium.com.
You Might Also Like These From The Good Men Project
Compliments Men Want to Hear More Often | Relationships Aren’t Easy, But They’re Worth It | The One Thing Men Want More Than Sex | ..A Man’s Kiss Tells You Everything |
Join The Good Men Project as a Premium Member today.
All Premium Members get to view The Good Men Project with NO ADS.
A $50 annual membership gives you an all access pass. You can be a part of every call, group, class and community.
A $25 annual membership gives you access to one class, one Social Interest group and our online communities.
A $12 annual membership gives you access to our Friday calls with the publisher, our online community.
Register New Account
Need more info? A complete list of benefits is here.
—
Photo credit: Wiktor Karkocha on Unsplash