Friday, October 31, 2014


I'm calling this guy Grant. We met on Tinder and had great rapport. Our banter was witty and fast paced. He was smart and just as sarcastic as me.

Grant didn't have a car, which irks me, but we set a date. I trekked down to his neighborhood. Found the bar. Found parking. Found a booth in a very hipster-ish bar (his choice).

I was maybe 5 minutes early. I order a glass of water because I don't want to start drinking by myself. I pass the time pretending to play with my phone but really eavesdropping on a group of finance bros.

Time seems to have slowed to a crawl. This was at the beginning of my re-entry to the dating world so I had little self confidence. Am I being stood up? The waitress came by at least twice more to ask if I wanted to order a drink. I'm on the verge of leaving.

He arrives. Grant was impossibly tall and very very thin. Like 6'7, 150 tall and thin. Like a beanpole. Like a prepubescent girl. Like a giraffe. Like the Jolly Green Giant's anorexic cousin. Like Mary Kate Olsen standing on Ashley Olsen's shoulders. I seriously wondered for a minute or so if I could break him over my knee like a pencil.

Thin guys are just not as attractive to me. My ex-husband was rail thin and I always felt like a blimp next to him. Being naked around him felt uncomfortable. I was so aware of my breast and hips and thighs and waist and butt. He never said anything to make me feel uncomfortable about my body. But the feeling lingered. I would disagree when he called me sexy.

But back to Grant. He sits. We order drinks. The conversation flows. It becomes pretty clear that he is rather immature. A gigantic overgrown child. We order another round. We move closer and closer in the booth until we are touching. Still talking and laughing, but I know I couldn't stand to be in a relationship with another man-child. Oh fuck, he has a hoop earring. C'mon men, this isn't a good look unless you're a pirate...and maybe not even then.

 I always, always offer to split the bill on first dates. Smart guys will wave this off and pick up the tab. Grant and I split the bill.

He graciously offers to walk me to my car as its rather dark. My car is in an underground parking garage. As usual, the hyper-paranoid part of my brain which has grown and been nurtured by my mom and too many true crime shows, begins to think, "Maybe it wasn't a great idea to go to a parking garage with a guy I met on the internet.

We get to my car and make out. For better or worse, kissing is my measure of whether it was a good date or not. I already knew I didn't like Grant. I already decided he was too skinny and too "young" (he was a year older) but I wanted him to want to kiss me. Because I'm a shallow, shallow person.

So we kiss for quite a while. He invites me back to his place but I decline. He says, "Then you better run."

What? Seriously, what the fuck? Terrifying. I think he meant that I should go because he wouldn't be able to stop kissing, but not entirely sure.

I got in the car and locked the doors obviously, by the time I started the car and got it in reverse, he had disappeared. The garage was basically empty. I have no idea where he went. My best guess is that he fell through a sewer grate since he was so damn skinny.

Definitely not worth the two artisanal cocktails. No second date.

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