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Sep 2

The Bachelorette: NY Transplant Edition (Part Two)

I am going to do a multi-part series on my match.com adventures in the hopes that it amuses all of you.  While not amusing at the time, I hope that I have made it more fun in the retelling.  I am not going to give them names because it would just be confusing.  If I ever actually like one of these guys, that may change.

Part Two = Bachelor #2

Oh, #2, you started out so promising.  You had a plan and were decisive.  I was very happy.  Where did it all go wrong?

I had two dates with #2.  Date #1 was fantastic.  He was older than his picture and was 10 minutes late, which I did not like, but he made up for it in joie de vivre.  He wanted to go to ping pong.  When that did not work out, he quickly regrouped and took us to a restaurant. We laughed, we had a great conversation, and he picked up the check as if he owned it all along and had no thought in his mind that I would pay. (I don’t mind paying at all – but the men seem to.  So I let them.  If a man lets me pay, they act all offended after the fact, like I threatened their manhood.)

Then there was Date #2.  I was excited, excited enough to do a full blow-out and fix my makeup and wear some of my nicest clothes, including a berry colored knee-length pencil skirt, black sleeveless blouse and strappy sandals.

We meet again at the ubiquitous Union Square.  He gives me a hug, and a peck on the cheek and we’re off on a date he says he’s planned for us.  As we’re walking towards the restaurant, he mentions that he’s drunk.  What?! I remain calm, and ask him how that happened.  Apparently, he had a business meeting and he had a margarita.  Or two.  More like two.  But again, this guy gets me when I’m hungry, and I’m on my way to food, so I just engage in light teasing and let it go.  But, apparently, #2 can’t stop telling me things.  During our drunken walk, he tells me that:

  1. I’m scantily clad
  2. My arms don’t really have muscles.

What?! And this is where he lost his chance.  I was not scantily clad.  And how dare he comment on my arms like that! I let forth the full amount of teasing I can provide: the amount I reserve only for people that can really take it.  I am scathing, but he is drunk.  I tell him that it is not 1810, and my bared ankle is not scandalous. I glare on behalf of my muscles.  But, I’m hungry and so I persevere in the hopes of food.

Then he goes into this weird story about what he really wanted this date to be.  He wanted to drive the the mountains, have us take off everything but bathing suits, hike to the top of a cliff and dive off it to the waters below.  If that’s not my worst nightmare, I don’t know what is.  Hiking and jumping off a cliff? Someone did not read my profile, where it states three times that I hate hiking and I’m terrified of heights.  Just goes to show that these guys only look at the pictures. And what’s with the getting undressed after saying my strappy sandals and bare arms make me scantily clad?

We get to the restaurant, and we are both pleasantly surprised.  It’s wonderful, the food is great and it’s vegetarian.  It was thoughtful, and as we start to eat, he sobers up.  We have a great conversation, like we did on Date #1. He wants to meet the next day, and I agree (seeing if there is a best two out of three dates). As I get home, he texts to see if I got home safe (awww), then he texts to ask if I will invite him over and cook him dinner (blech)!

I have to cancel Date #3 at the last minute because my laundry situation was dire.  I text him from the laundromat, and he does not call me again.  Thanks for the favor, dude!

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