Saturday, October 18, 2014


His name wasn't Bert but we went to Bert's Pub in Bothell. Bert and I met on Tinder and set a time to meet for drinks.

I arrived at the pub first. It was a dive, which I am in no way opposed to. But it had a rough vibe. I wasn't entirely comfortable. I found a booth with a view of the door, and my back to the wall so I could wait for Bert. And keep eyes on the other characters in the bar.

Bert had advertised his height at 6 foot. He was my height. I am 5'8. I can tell that you are not taller than me. It boggles the mind why every guy adds inches to his height. His pictures did not hint at this but he was rather slender. In a way that was feminine but I can describe why.

He opened a tab and we chatted. We chatted about all kinds of first date stuff. Where did you grow up? Any siblings? Any pets? How do you like  your job? Etc.

Bert was not really my dream guy but he seemed nice enough. We decided to move our party down the street to a restaurant. By this time, most places were closing. We found another bar and ordered French Fries, or something greasy. I don't remember. I do remember getting hot chocolate.

After eating, he drove me back to my car. And we kissed. And kissed. And he asked me to come back to his place or offered to come to my place. I politely declined. We kissed some more.

I never heard from him again.

Because I was still early in my dating experiments, I was so fucking pathetic. I sent two texts. One, the next day, thanking him again for a good time. No response. A few days later I sent a text asking what I had done wrong, so I could improve for future dates with others. No response.

I was a bit pathetic. But I just don't understand why you would want to make out with someone you never want to see again. Did he lose interest because I didn't go home with him? The questions weighed on me for a while. I eventually decided this wasn't worth worrying about. Not everyone clicks. He wasn't my type, maybe I wasn't his.

C'est la vie.

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