Remember when I blogged about C? His fadeout and slow texting? Well, last week we went out on a belated second date. Here’s my thing – dating someone and getting to know them has to have some momentum. If you meet someone and like them you should see them again soon. Like, in the next week, ideally. C and I lost momentum. I was still excited to see him though – I believed him to be very cute, and he had a good job, a nice looking tattoo and he could spell things correctly.
I met him after work one evening at an Irish fusion restaurant downtown. It’s a big spot for beer, but I’ve recently decided to quit drinking – so iced tea it was. I rambled briefly about my decision (not that I felt he was owed explanation, but most people wonder because it’s not the norm). The service was lightening fast – more like McDonald’s than a nice restaurant – and as I looked over at him across my smoked salmon spinach salad, I wondered what the hell to talk about. My recent reconnection with someone from my past obviously wasn’t on the discussion board, so we made inane chatter about our work. His work sounds moderately important; I have sort of an Office Space type job that I’m reluctant to talk about for fear of putting my companions into a coma. The result was lots of awkward silence. My eyes darted around the restaurant. Holy shit, I thought to myself. This is really bad.
After our brief, drinkless, desertless meal, C suggested going for ice cream, and since I’m still eating dairy, I obliged. We walked to Izzy’s and he bought me a cone of peppermint stick. We walked around the little seaport town and the conversation started to improve. I was carrying it with my witty jokes and he was laughing along. I made a mess of my ice cream cone by not licking it fast enough (ha…) and so my fingers were as sticky as a five year-old’s. I ducked into a bar to use their facilities and afterward we continued to stroll around. Wasn’t bad…wasn’t great…but I was like, “ok, I do like this guy. Or at the very least I don’t dislike him. I want to know him better. I’m willing to get to know him and put in the time.”
The night drew to a close and I offered to drive him to his car. He accepted, and when we pulled into the lot next to his truck (with a vanity plate…with his name! Oh heavens) he had his hand on the door latch of my car. Which was child-locked. Maybe this was the moment to see, if there was any…chemistry. He seemed like a caged animal but I decided to go for it anyway. I’d been talking about how I missed baths (no soaking fresh ink!) during our walk, and he said he was going to take one when he got home, so we were sort of joking about that for a second. We contorted into a car-hug and separated; I searched his eyes for a nanosecond then leaned in for a kiss. A quick double-peck. Separated again. My long hair was caught in his beard scruff. Oh, the shame of pulling my hair out of his beard scruff after that fast, forced, junior-high kiss. The shame. “Enjoy your bath,” I called, and he went off into the night.
I texted him when I got home, because in spite of my awkward moment, I’m confident in my underlying coolness and overlying hotness, and was certain that there was absolutely no way he would NOT want to see me again. “Had fun tonight, let’s hang this weekend?” I suggested. He replied “I’ll have to let you know, I have a busy one ahead.” Then some comment about my tattoo being featured on the tattoo artist’s Facebook page. I asked him to “keep me posted,” but you know he never did. So long, C. I really do hope you enjoyed your bath.