Hello pretties,
So, I have these long stretches of happy singledom, and then I get frustrated and engage in a month of fervent online dating (sort of like sudden growth spurts, but instead of becoming taller, I just end up shellshocked). Very recently, I had three of the most absurd dates of my life, all within a two week span. Because I don’t know what else do do with this fuckery, I’m writing about it.
But first, understand that I don’t have terrible taste in men. Swear! The thing with online dating is that you pick based on interest and looks. Which seems to be a air-tight vetting system, but that doesn’t account for things like toddler-level temperaments or a photo-shopped missing lateral incisor.
So, there was this handsome gentleman in his mid-fifties, crazy athletic, tan, creative, whip-smart. He picked a sexy bar in Nolita, tons of a flirty, clever convo, and then asked the inevitable first date question: “So, you have a kid? Were you married? What’s the story?” Cool, I have a whole narrative prepared for these occasions. Great guy, better as friends, fabulous co-parenters, Lina slays, etc. Then, since I figured we were having the getting-to-know-you, past-relationships talk, I asked him the same thing.
Me: Have you ever been married or anything?
Dude (switching up his whole demeanor and shooting me a withering glance of profound disappointment and disgust): OH GOD. God.
Me: What just happened?
Dude: You just don’t look like the kind of woman who’d be so cliche.
***OH WORD??!***
Me: Cliche? The entire concept of a first date is cliche. Your line about being relieved that I look like my online pics was cliche. My micro tank dress is a cliche. Help me understand.
Dude: The question was cliche. Ugh, it was all going so well.
Me: You asked me if I was married, first!
Dude (in an exaggerated whine, swear on everything): “Oooh, you’re in your mid-fifties. Why aren’t you married? Have you ever even been engaged? Do you have commitment issues? Eww, you must be sooo damaged and emotionally closed off…”
He all but sent me to The Wall. He all but ripped off my wig and tossed it at me in a huff. He all but stood on the table, pointed at me and shouted into the bar, “SHE RUINED IT, FUCKERS! RUINED IT!”
Ladies, I grabbed my clutch, made like I had to go powder my nose and never saw this gentleman again.
Here’s my thing. I was just making conversation. And B.) Since you went there, why haven’t you been engaged or married by, like, 75? This is actually pertinent is-there-any-point-to-this information, sassypants, so get over yourself.
He was from Never Again City, but whatever. It was the first night I wore my new Laqa & Co. Lip Lube crayons, and that was a total win.
My lips STAY chapped, ’cause I bite them. These impossibly glossy, peppermint-and-shea-butter-infused lip stains moisturize like a balm, but give lasting color. High-shine color. And it’s sweet, totally unconfrontational…we all get statement lip burnout. A soft pop of color can be so refreshing.
These dates, man. Stay tuned for more shenanigans!
xoxo,
Madame Trilliams