Context: I had been talking to “Mr. Know-it-All” for about a week after I matched with him on Hinge, and I legitimately thought this guy was my soulmate. He used to live in Paris and Germany, had passions for both coffee and wine, loved to read and write, and was absolutely gorgeous. We had originally made plans to meet up for dinner on Sunday, but I was sufficiently schwasted from a boozy brunch with M, L, and some other friends, so we rescheduled for dinner at Lyon Hall on Tuesday (again, again).
The waiters at Lyon Hall are beginning to think that I am a hooker. A high-class hooker, but a little sloot nonetheless. I’ve been there three times in the past month, each time with a different guy who buys me things and who I am very clearly meeting for the first time. Listen, Wait Staff, you don’t know my life. You just know most of it. Like my favorite drink order. God bless you, SJFs.
Setting aside my reputation at one of Arlington’s most esteemed French restaurants, let’s get to the good stuff. First of all, my date made a reservation… for a Tuesday night… at a not-too-busy restaurant. Which shows that he’s a planner, which is nice sometimes, but definitely the first time this has happened on a date.*
*When I was recounting this to my Senior Manager, because why wouldn’t I talk about my dating escapades at work, she suggested that he probably made the reservation because he wanted the OpenTable points. If so, well played, sir. Well. Played.
You know a date is going to go well when the first question you get asked is “So, what exactly do you do at work in a typical day?” Like, not the worst question you could possibly ask (the worst being “Hey, how many Tinder dates do you go on in a week, and also do you write a blog about these dates, and I’VE BEEN WATCHING YOU THE JIG IS UP.” If this ever happens, I will run out of the restaurant into the nearest river or similar body of water and swim far, far away to where I will never be found.)
I answered him, because I love my job, and his response was “Ah. Sounds boring. My job is much more exciting.” He then launched into a 15-minute soliloquy about his job, college (all-male… yum) and the life path he has taken that has led him to be the man he is today. I did all that I could do: smile, nod, and chug my drink. By the time he was done, I was ready for a serious refill. Combine this with the two generous glasses of wine that I had chugged after work (rough day, guys) and I was feeling AWESOME. Just drunk enough to pretend that the hunk across from me was actually interesting, and just sober enough that I wasn’t kicked out of the restaurant for dancing on the bar.
Ok, so I know I’m making this dude out to be the most boring, self-centered person alive, but that’s not completely true. He did seem like a nice enough guy, but I noted three red flags early on in our conversation:
- No roommates. I’ve discussed this before, but living with at least one other person is one of the first things I look for in a potential mate. (The absolute first thing, if you were wondering, is good hugging skills. I’m a cuddler, what can I say?) The ability to cohabitate with another human being shows that you can share (i.e. sometimes I will eat your food, deal with it), you can coordinate on logistical issues, and that you generally enjoy human interaction. This man, while I’m sure he is very well adjusted, has not had a single roommate since college. That’s a long time to be completely alone, if you ask me. Which may explain why he…
- Acted like he was smarter than me on various subjects. I love wine and coffee, guys. But I am not an expert in “the floral essences that give each bottle of wine its special character” or “the delicate process that US coffee roasters have perfected to turn those green beans into some of the finest caffeine sources on Earth.” Wine tastes good and gets me drunk, coffee tastes good and keeps me awake. Done and done. Cue more drink-chugging.
- Talked down on “people who drink to get drunk.” Personally offensive. Also, if I date you, what are we going to do? Do you want to create a little nest where we will stay forever and ignore all of our other friends and roommates? Because my relationships are a healthy balance of a) fun, sober time together, and b) fun, DRUNK AS SHIT time with our individual and mutual friends. You can’t change me. Sorry.
I initiated the “shall we go?” after he signed the check, and we boot-scooted it back to my apartment. I gave him a half-hearted hug, turned him the cheek when he went in for the smooch, and high-tailed it up to my bedroom. To be completely honest, I was coming off a fantastic date the night before, and the stark contrast was enough to send me into a spiral of feelings that culminated in me belting out Drake songs in the shower. That shit hits hard, homie.
The cuffing season quest continues. No more old souls, please.