Last week, I was tricked back into online dating.
Okay fine. No one promised me candy if I climbed into their van, but someone from Match.com texted me out of the blue.
“Hey! Would you be up for a cup of coffee sometime? I know you said you’re in a relationship but nothing wrong with friends. This is George, the goofy guy from [nearby town].”
George and I had made it to the texting stage back in early April, when I was in the middle of my ’10 first dates in 10 weeks’ phase. We were all set to meet for First Date Coffee when I decided to cancel to pursue a budding romance with someone else. George was very understanding.
His text, now three months later, threw me for a loop. My budding romance had turned out to be anything but, and I’d since sworn off dating with the type of fervor usually reserved for monks and fruitarians.
I stalled for two days.
“Hi George!” I eventually texted back. “Good to hear from you! That sounds fun – although as friends, we can meet for a drink instead, because who cares about first impressions?!”
We quickly settled on meeting date and location. He suggested the very place I was going to recommend, which seemed to bode well. But did he really think I’d meet him if I was actually in a relationship?
“No f^&*# way,” said my girlfriends. It was a hot topic over happy hour that Friday. “He saw you were back on Match.”
It was true; after a 10+ year failed marriage, two eHarmony heartbreaks and several Match.com face palms (about which I hope to eventually tastefully blog), I had recently logged back onto Match, browsing the bottomless pool of misguided selfies. Each time I thought about messaging someone, I came to my senses.
Leading up to the non-date date, my anxiety morphed into full-on dread. I reread our text exchanges from early April. They were pretty funny. Was I going to have to start shaving my legs again?
On the big day, George and I arrived at exactly the same time. He was tall, nice smile, put together, friendly enough. Definitely nervous and trying to hide it. I was always nervous, too, but if there was one thing I’d learned over the past year: I rocked at first dates. The formula was simple, and had nothing to do with any merit or attractiveness on my part:
“Are you a drinker?” George asked as we walked toward the bar. I shot him a look and he laughed.
He never asked if I was, in fact, seeing anyone, and throughout the night, kept leaning his arms across the table. At one point I had to put my hands in my lap to avoid contact. Which meant I couldn’t reach my wine. Bad move, George.
In response to several of my comments about food, music and movies he replied, “You’re earning points with me.”
Comments like that used to make me blush and giggle; now I just wanted to go home and watch Little People, Big World.
I thought the restaurant closed at 10pm and I could make a smooth escape after two hours, but we wound up talking until nearly midnight.
I feared an awkward hug goodbye in the now-deserted parking lot, so I waved, shouted something about owing him a few book titles and bolted. He looked so taken aback that I wondered if I’d ever hear from him again.
He texted twenty minutes later.
He said he was glad we’d met, and sent a few Instagram clips of him singing. We’d talked about his musical pursuits, but I was surprised to receive four 15-second videos.
All you could see in the videos was his phone, while he earnestly sang over the likes of Seal and Extreme.
After a few moments’ debate, I replied, “NICE!! The last one was my favorite.” Technically, it was true.
The next morning, he texted, “I wanted to ask you, are you booked up over the long weekend? I’m thinking that I could be coaxed to sing you a ditty for a payment in fine wine.”
“Usually I pay based on performance,” I cheekily replied, agreeing to meet for a second date on Sunday, my next available evening.
I ignored his LinkedIn request.
On Wednesday (two days after our initial meeting), he texted, “For today’s entertainment, here’s a humor article I wrote in 2009 for [website name].”
He had never mentioned an interest in writing, but I dutifully clicked on the link de jour.
“The website was blocked by my work filter!” I replied, secretly relieved.
“Hilarious,” he said, and then copied and pasted the entire article into a text message.
I was running late for a meeting, so put my phone away, planning to read it that afternoon. Which I did. And. Well. Okay. So.
Here’s the thing.
Well it isn’t that…
You see what I’m trying to say is…
It doesn’t even matter how good or bad the article was. Right? Do people do that? Should I pass out blog business cards on first (non-date) dates?
And here’s where I need your help. How would you have responded? I’m not sure I made the right decision.