So you know that coffee date I had a couple weeks back, where the guy (known from here on in as Coffee Date # 2 … or CD 2 … not to be confused with the very last guy, who’s actually Coffee Date # 3) asked me if I wanted to go out for wings?
Well, true to form, it happened. Last Thursday night, actually.
Because I worked downtown and we had to go to Scarborough, there wasn’t a way out of turning down an offer of a drive there.
(I know many of you think I could. But seriously, I’d like to see you try. And YOU getting to Malvern in less than an hour. Not easy. I did draw the line of him coming to my place of work, opting instead to meet at a subway station.)
Anyway, the conversation on the drive over was not as painful as I thought it would be. It was actually decent.
After a missed highway exit, we arrived at the place in question.
While the wings weren’t the best, a fair bit of our conversation early on was … okay.
But as the wings and celery sticks disappeared, it began to get awkward. It didn’t feel as if it were a normal conversation – to me, it felt as if we were having two different conversations, which just didn’t FIT together.
CD 2 was trying to get deep and philosophical, and most of the subject matter was about dating and relationships. (Again to remind you, we only had ONE other face-to-face meeting … that being the coffee date from late November.) All of it felt way to intense for a first … whatever this was.
So … why did I think I was still single?
Did I think I would ever go back to school? (Harmless enough question.)
When was I planning on having kids? (Um, what?)
What did I think were things people did on dates, to make them fail?
And so on.
He then said I wasn’t asking enough questions. (Which was probably true. But then again, he was asking a lot of questions, a few of which I wasn’t sure were appropriate at this stage.) And then when I tried, all his answers were odd.
At one point, he leaned in and asked, “Okay, I’m going to ask a question. Do you think we … click?”
And then, after what was probably a strained look on my face, as I tried to answer, he cut me off saying, “Don’t answer,” and laughed.
I felt like I was undergoing some sort of interview. I’m surprised he didn’t ask me if my family had a history of mental illness or any other major health problems.
To be fair, I suppose I was so sensitive to the questioning because I wasn’t as into him as he was into me. But STILL.
And it only got cheesier.
As we sat in the booth, in our coats, waiting for the bill …
He asked me if I could read palms and if I knew what the lines meant. Then he asked me for my hand so he could look at the lines, and started gently tapping and grazing his fingers across my palm.
“Can you feel the electricity between us?” he said in his quiet voice.
I don’t think I even concealed my “Are you FOR REAL?” face.
After we left – which took WAY too long for my liking – he drove me home … And the painful awkwardness continued.
He had Latin-styled instrumental music was playing from his car … and he said he hoped we could go out dancing sometime, ’cause he wanted to show me his moves. (I don’t think that was a euphemism.)
Then he wanted to “dance” with me. In the car. And held out his hand.
At first I humoured him, hamming it up a bit.
But then he started up again, when we turned onto my street … and he just SLOWED the car DOWN.
And then we had some strange conversation about my house …
EVENTUALLY he got me to my house and I got to leave the car. And the night FINALLY ended.
Am I going to see him again. Um, no.
In fact, I finally sent him an e-mail about it this evening. I’m sure he’ll take it any number of ways. Likely, I’ll never hear from him again. And that’s fine.
Yes, I could have avoided it. But you know what? I feel it was something I needed to do for myself.
And it helped me to understand myself a bit better.
So. On to the holidays … time with friends and family … and perhaps in the New Year, on to the next.
If there is a “next”.