Even a Good Girl Looks Like a Hooker When Her Date is 36 Minutes Late
I had a date on Saturday night with a man we’ll call “Sparky”. I chose this moniker not because it is a cute name for a puppy, thus implying he is a dog, but rather because both on the phone, and in person, we had a spark. I am sarcastic and rather quick witted so when I meet a man that can appreciate that, and can keep up, it’s a great thing. That was the case with Sparky.
We had spoken and texted several times leading up to our date, and we all know that’s never a good thing. Pre-dating is a dangerous game so we while we were in contact, we kept it light and basic. We made plans to meet for a drink, but made it for 7:30 so in the event there was a connection in person, we could continue onto dinner. It was a well intentioned plan.
I arrived at 7:27 and made my way to the bar. Sparky called at 7:29 to tell me he was stuck in traffic and would be 10 minutes late. Now if it were me, I would have called before the time I was actually supposed to arrive to say I was running late, but that’s just me. I ordered a drink and chatted with the people at the bar while I waited. At 7:40 he texted to say traffic was still bad.
We texted back and forth and chatted on the phone. He was clearly stressed out by his tardiness so I forgave him, but milked it for all it was worth. I moved to a table because even a good girl is going to look like a hooker sitting alone at an upscale bar by herself. When a creepy man at the bar asked me if I went there often, I knew it was time to move.
Just before 8:00, Sparky sent a text to ask where I was. I directed him to our table, only to discover he was at the wrong restaurant. Brilliant. He was now 30 minutes late, at a restaurant up the street, and forced to wait for the valet to bring back his car. If he had not been in contact throughout his ordeal to get to the date, I would have bailed. 36 minutes is brutal.
Sparky finally arrived at the correct restaurant at 8:06. I was well into my Cosmo and was able to see the humor in it. Luckily I ordered the drink because without a little buzz I would have left. It’s a defining moment when a man arrives late for a date, and I was curious how he would handle it. He arrived, kissed me on the cheek, said “sorry dear”, and sat down.
I’m not sure how to explain it, but it was nice. There was a sense of comfort, as if we knew each other well. It might sound silly, but it felt safe to me and I was immediately put at ease. The fact that he was better looking in person did not hurt either. I told him as much and he said he posted a not so great picture, so women were pleasantly surprised.
Interesting approach, and one that worked well. We settled into an easy banter and quickly decided to have dinner. We chatted about our kids, our work, and life in general. He was funny and charming, and very polite. No sexual innuendos, or dumb jokes. It was grown up, funny, light but meaningful, and not a lot of dating fluff talk that teaches you nothing.
Two drinks and two hours later, we left the restaurant. I’m not impressed by money, or what kind of car a man drives. I am impressed with manners, and how a man talks about his children and his ex-wife. He spoke of his kids with love and kindness, and of his ex-wife gently. I was digging him and then he did the one thing that always makes my heart flutter.
I got to the door first, and when I opened it, he leaned over and pushed it open with his right hand, then placed his left hand on the small of my back and guided me through the door. It might sound ridiculous, but I have always thought a man putting his hand on my lower back as a guide, to be a romantic gesture, and one that makes me feel special. It was lovely.
We said goodnight and it was a very nice date. We were in touch today and I assume we will go out again. I won’t be surprised if we don’t though, as I’ve gotten that assumption wrong before. Dating is a game, a dance, a test, and full of rules. Sadly it’s also one of the rare things that no matter how often you do it, you just never get any better at it. Dating sucks.
So in the end it was such a nice date that I’ve moved on from his being late. Should we go out again I will milk it, and by milk it of course I mean I will remind him of his first date tardiness for as long as I know him. It was nice to go with an intellectual man. He’s not my type, which makes me think that perhaps he is actually my type. Second date? I’m keeping the faith.