Context: Hey there! J here, swamped AF with work because y’all haven’t shared my blog with enough people for my ad revenue to pay my rent yet. Rude. Anyway, my friend ‘Singer’ was kind enough to share her story of a lesson she learned when trying to date an Ivy League lawyer, aka a real-life unicorn. Take it away, girl!
Basically every little girl dreams of hitting the lottery with men and settling down with a doctor or a lawyer.
Now for me, these elusive creatures never really came on my radar – I have an affinity for dating with losers and fuckboys. It’s something I’m working on. However, that all changed recently when I came across one of these professionals LIVE in the wild – and was left thoroughly disillusioned and disappointed.
The scene of the crime: A friend’s winery birthday trip, out of town.
The setting: A bar, at night, drinking even more wine after a full day of wineries (I make great choices).
The characters: Myself, wasted. My friend, wasted. A lawyer from DC at the end of the bar, thoroughly interested in joining the conversation of two wasted girls.
So yeah, rando lawyer dude joined in our conversation, and things quickly took a turn for the better. As if being a lawyer wasn’t enough, he was a lawyer from an ivy league school who worked in criminal law prosecuting dangerous* criminals. Hubba hubba.
*Any girl who says an element of danger isn’t a turn on is in MAJOR denial. It’s like saying boys ignoring your texts doesn’t make you instantly obsessed with them. But I digress.
We exchanged numbers, parted ways, and I returned to DC and the sad soberness of reality the next day, not expecting much to come of this encounter. However, this unicorn of a person and I began texting A LOT for about two weeks. He asked me on a couple of dates, but with my friends and my incredibly busy Bumble dating schedule*, it didn’t work out right away. We finally found time a few weeks later to meet up for drinks.
*Lawd help me.
Now, I am absolutely NOT a lady by any means – that ship long ago – but I do know how to act all classy-like when I need to. And my gut told me that this unicorn wanted a lady, so I tried my best to behave on the date aka not talk constantly about inappropriate things, not drink a profuse amount*, and to hide my crazy. We ended up hooking up that night (you can’t put a guy that checks all my boxes IN FRONT OF ME without me activating my inner slut), but overall I think I handled the night well, and he even texted me the next day instead of waiting the standard fuckboy period of a few days (if they even text back at all).
*Failed in this respect – nobody’s perfect.
Now comes the disillusionment part. I like sex. I like it a lot. So when I got drunk later that week, I was really into getting that guy back over at my place so I could laid. This simple truth ended up with me embarrassing myself with a series of drunk text messages. Oops.
He didn’t talk to me for a few days, so I finally took initiative and invited him to a dinner at my friend’s place (I thought a group thing might be more low key). To my surprise, he broke his silence and agreed to go.
Now, while I had thus far made an effort to hide my inner crazy in his presence, my friends… didn’t do that. By this, I mean that the conversation evolved into multiple areas of conversation that I’m sure were less than pleasurable to my precious unicorn – including squirting, sex regret stories, and more. Oops (again).
This guy drove me home at the end of the night, and told me he was too busy to come up that evening. RED FLAG. What kind of guy says no to a sure night of sex? He did kiss me though, so I figured I may not have totally blown it.
He then proceeded to ghost me for a week. Um, sir, you’re too old for this shit. When I called him out on it, he used the old cliché of being busy at work. (Sorry dude, you can’t actually literally be working 24 hours a day and be too busy to take 30 seconds to send a text. Not buying it.) Yet, this being the first Ivy League lawyer on my list, I was NOT going to let this go easily. So I kept trying to engage with him, get him to make plans, etc. NADA. All it did was put me in a lovely spiral of drinking too much and bringing home a young fuckboy earlier this week to fill the emptiness of losing my unicorn.
This is where the moral of my story comes to point. If something seems too good to be true, it probably is. Ivy League lawyers are, in general, too stuck up to be fun and respectful partners. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life as a Stepford wife, heed my warning. They are not mythical creatures. They are not unicorns. They are, in fact, actually not very nice at all. Do yourself a favor and give them a HARD PASS.
But not before you steal one of their college sweatshirts. That would be a damn shame.