Context: I matched with ‘Programmer’ on Tinder on Valentine’s Day (the most swipe-able day of the year!), and we decided to meet for a drink at Ragtime in Courthouse the following night.
Every once in a while, I come across a profile that is so outstanding, I cannot HELP but swipe right. Programmer was one of these cases. His pictures were as follows:
…and the subsequent photo of him, which I will not grace you with so that my lover can remain a shred of anonymity/dignity, was SMOKIN. Also, his bio said “taller than you” which is a confident-ass statement and made me swoon. I was in.
I immediately messaged him. “Hi! You’re witty and cute. Please date me.” I was pleased to discover that he was a great conversationalist, and when he suggested we meet up for a drink the next night I was super on board.
Mother Nature was also apparently excited for my date, because she celebrated by gracing DC with three inches of snow and four metric tonnes of ICE. How fun! However, the show must go on, so M and I set off to La Tasca (how predictable are we?) at 5:30 to pregame a bit and catch up on our respective Valentine’s Day weekends (hers spent with her beau, mine spent blacking out at brunch and drunk texting boys I shouldn’t).
I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to ice skate with normal shoes on, but it is QUITE the adventure. Close your eyes and imagine your everyday stroll.
Where are you? Is it sunny there? Are there dogs nearby? Aww, puppies! Omg you’re so fluffy!!!
…wow. Snap out of it, J. Moving on.
Now, every time you pick up a foot, YOU FALL. Going downhill? Oh, you’re going down FAST so there better not be anything in your way! Going uphill? Hahahaha, no you’re not. And don’t even try to grab on to your roommates (sorry M), friends, or unsuspecting strangers to prevent your fall – they’re coming right down with you.
The 0.5 mile downhill walk to Ragtime (combined with being preeetty drunk on sangria), was, thus, an adventure. I miraculously managed to make it to the bar without falling, which is surprising because I’ve been known to be standing on dry ground and take sudden tumbles of my own accord. The whole hand-eye-body-mind (?) connection never really registered with me. Preschool was hard.
Programmer was sitting at the end of the bar and looked just as good as his picture #blessup. I took a seat next to him, and when he opened his mouth to speak, all of a sudden the heavens opened above me and a choir of angels began to sing. He had a sexy as hell TURKISH ACCENT.* This is all I’ve ever wanted in life.
*I snuck off to the bathroom to text my roommates and friend this wonderful news, and ALL responded ‘I didn’t think that was a sexy accent.’ HATERS GON’ HATE.
I ordered a beer and we launched into some casual/mildly awkward conversation, me leaning in very closely because I could barely understand what he was saying, and him taking this as a sign that I wanted to hold hands. YEP – he held my hand. AT THE BAR. I was highly uncomfortable. And what do I do when I’m uncomfortable? I chug whatever alcohol is in front of me. Beer #2, coming up!
He started talking about this personality test that a friend had given him that was supposed to be exceedingly accurate, and I was intrigued, so I asked him to do mine. The test consisted of the following scenario:
Imagine you have a house. Choose whatever backdrop you would like.
What kind of house is it? How big is it?
How big are the windows? Are there drapes, or can you see through the windows?
Imagine there is a horse – is it close to the house, or far away? Is someone riding the horse? Is the horse saddled?
There is a ladder nearby. What is it leaning up against?
A rainstorm is coming. Do you think it will hurt the house, or the horse, or will it be okay?
Of course, after I gave my answers, he told me it meant I was a horrible person. But, like, tell me something I don’t know, right?
Once we finished the ‘personality test,’ Programmer asked me if I knew what ‘Truth or Dare’ was.
J – Ummm, yes, because I’m a female and I had a childhood wrought with sleepovers?
P – Great, let’s play that, except let’s change it to ‘Truth or Truth’
OKAY, buddy. This isn’t my first rodeo. This is ‘The Question Game,’ also known as the favorite pastime of teenage boys everywhere who want to find out which girls have gone the farthest and can offer them the best chance at becoming a man. Am I 16? No. Are you 16? No, you’re fucking old. Why are you doing this???
J – Sure! You start.
I hate myself. PS he’s still holding my hand this entire time, don’t forget that.
We played a pretty tame version of the question game, until the end when he started getting weird and I was like HEY YUP SO UM IT’S MY BEDTIME GOTTA JET.
He took my arm and we set off in the direction of… his apartment? Oh, HELL no.
J – Hey, my apartment is actually this way!
P – I know, but my roommate is out of town so I thought I’d have you over for another drink.
J – Let’s not do that.
P – Have you ever kissed someone while sliding on ice? *Kisses me and begins to drag me down the hill*
J – Nope! First time! Byeeeee!
He ended up walking me halfway home before I told him he really, really didn’t have to do that, mostly because I had to pee RULL BAD and my shuffle was about to turn into a ‘sprinting in the street where it’s slushy’ sort of shenanigan.
Once he finally gave up on his dream of making his way into my apartment for sexy time (J – MY ROOMMATE IS VERY MUCH AT HOME AND WE SLEEP IN THE SAME BED AND HER LIFE’S ONLY MISSION IS TO PROTECT ME), he kissed me goodbye and began his long slide back to Courthouse. I, meanwhile, befriended the homeless man that I was sharing the street with. And by befriended, I mean he threw snowballs at me and yelled “SLOW DOWN BITCH I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME.” Top 10 nights of my life for sure.
He texted me that night to ask if I got home without falling. I confirmed that I had, and then immediately ignored any subsequent texts while I focused on the banana bread I was eating.
The next night I was drunk AF at my alma mater when I received the following:
He suggested a wine-strawberry(?)-movie night for Friday, and I agreed because I was 11(?) drinks in, but I have no intention of attending. SO any tips on getting out of this without looking like a huge biotch are much appreciated! Thanks fam.