On our first date, I ordered a vodka-soda with just a splash of pineapple.
Actually, that’s a lie. That’s what I wish I’d ordered.
Instead, I had two vodka pineapples that sent my sugar levels soaring and then crashing, thanks to my lifelong blood-sugar issues.
I threw up those drinks a few hours later, despite the fact that I made sure I did not drink on an empty stomach.
I’d ordered fried pickles with ranch to munch on while we drank and chatted. I thought the fried pickles would keep me safe.
Truth is, though I rarely drink (I prefer weed to unwind), I felt I needed the liquor courage that evening.
Why? I felt uncomfortable. I was on a first date with a dude I’d met on a dating app.
I hate apps and I hate awkwardness, but I guess I finally hate being alone even more.
…
My last date via the app, a couple months prior, had been almost painfully awkward to sit through.
It was a brunch date, so neither of us drank alcohol, though looking back, I should have ordered the mimosas, for both our sakes.
I wasn’t going to play fake-comfortable this time around, so I told my date, a seemingly successful software salesman, that I didn’t really like dating apps, and that I wasn’t feeling excited about our meeting.
Somehow, this admission made him warm up to me.
He told me about his own unfortunate dating experiences. He said some females were too aggressive, blowing up the app with messages until he responded. He also said that on a previous date, he had gone to use the restroom half way through and then never returned.
He did send her a message, however, to let her know he wasn’t interested and had left.
Apparently, she had appreciated his brutal honesty.
Younger me would have considered his action the height of rudeness.
But now, at 35, as a parent with limited time and energy to waste, I get it.
I actually get it.
So when I glanced down at my watch and realized I’d spent nearly two hours with this guy, I quickly told him I needed to leave. My daughter was waiting on me, I half-lied.
Later, at my car, I would discover that I hadn’t lied at all, because as if on cue she sent me an adorably needy and demanding text: “What time will you be home??”
“Soon, baby,” I answered truthfully.
…
I call my best friend Ashley on the way home, telling her I am surprised at how tipsy I got off two drinks.
Ashley tells me about her own experience dating a dude off the same dating app as me.
She hadn’t felt interested in him the first three or so dates, finding him somewhat dull.
Then, her ex-husband showed up out of nowhere to stay at her home to visit the kids he never sees. Triggered by horrible memories of abuse by him, she escaped onto a date with this new dude.
He’d kept texting her even after she blew him off a couple times, so he was happy to finally get a chance to meet up with her for a fourth (or fifth?) date.
“He looked extra good that night,” Ashley told me.
Was it the alcohol warming her bloodstream that made him look so good?
What is the alcohol in his own bloodstream that was lending him extra attractive confidence?
Was is the alcohol that made her go back to his place, watch videos on his computer, then collapse into his kisses?
Before they knew it, he’d slipped on a condom and finished inside her in what she swears was like thirty seconds.
Predictably, he seems to have lost interest in her since their unexpected romp in the hay. She voiced her disappointment to me. Another one bites the dust.
“If you sleep with a guy too soon, he can lose interest,” I told her, my tone admonishing.
I’ve heard multiple males admit to this phenomenon, so I feel pretty sure it’s a valid generalization.
“Well, I’m focusing on myself now anyways,” she retorted.
“That’s good.” I meant it. The woman has been a mess ever since her divorce over a decade ago.
Which isn’t to say I’m not a mess, because really, who isn’t? Life is messy.
…
The day after my first date with Software Salesman, I had a nagging recollection at the back of my mind that I had tipsily promised him that I would give him my phone number via the app.
At the end of the day, I logged into the app to see that he had sent me a couple followup messages, expressing strong interest in meeting up again.
Though hesitant, I remembered my promise to myself to give these guys a shot, or at least half a shot.
He wasn’t boring and he wasn’t ugly, so declining a second date seemed brash.
Maybe there really is potential there.
Talking myself into it, I sent him my phone number.
He promptly called me.
I didn’t answer so he left a voicemail and a text message, asking if I could meet up again two days from then.
I told him I was busy. Could he do this coming Friday instead?
He said yes.
That Friday, though, his ex was sick so he was taking care of the kids for her.
Can we meet Tuesday? He asked.
I’m going to a child’s funeral on Tuesday and won’t be in a good mood afterwards, I answered honestly.
Thursday? He persisted.
Yes, that works! I feigned excitement.
Fake it until you make it, right?
…
This morning, I was listening to a podcast hosted by the female cast of a popular reality show. In it, two ladies in their mid-thirties allege that whether or not you sleep with a dude early on absolutely does not affect whether or not he loses interest prematurely.
Part of me would like to believe this. Why shouldn’t it be so simple, after all?
Then, I remember that the ladies on the podcast are single and lonely. One is childless and divorced, the other a scorned mistress.
I think of Ashley, who has slept with a countless number of men in her quest for the ‘The One.’
I decide I will play it safe. I’m a mom, after all.
I do, however, make sure that my second date with Software Salesman is an in-and-out happy hour type deal. Not the dinner he requested.
Quick and boozy. I just need to remember the soda in place of juice.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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