Well, I did it, folks. I went on a date with one of those Internet girls. Let’s just say it wasn’t great. Some might even call it a train wreck. I’d call it hilarious, which is why I wrote her a letter for you to read.
My Dearest Tinderella,
It was love at first swipe, or so I thought. Just kidding, we met on Tinder, so I had no plans to wife you up anytime soon. Our conversation on the app started pleasantly enough. We talked about nothing of substance, unless you count the fact that we both like wine (I of the cheap Trader Joe’s variety) and massages (real ones, not the Asian massage parlor ones, you pervs). After a few days I asked you out for a drink because I’m a gentleman, and I’ll pay for drinks so we can feel each other out on whether or not we want to feel each other up. I picked you up so you wouldn’t have to drive in the snow, and off we went.
After we were seated and ordered, we proceeded with typical first date topics such as school, work, family, and so on. After 20 minutes of decent conversation, you brought up your ex (red flag), who you broke up with a month ago (bigger red flag). I’m not saying I expected you to fall for me, or date me, but I thought at least an hour without talking about your ex was a realistic expectation. I reciprocated with a brief explanation of how long I’ve been single and that I wasn’t trying to force anything. Rather, I’m just going with the proverbial flow. When you didn’t drop the subject, I suggested that we could drop the ex-talk and change subjects, to which you agreed. Then you told me you needed to use the restroom, which was a huge red flag, since you’d had three quarters of a beer.
I knew you were going to call a girlfriend to plan your escape. Two minutes later you returned, stating that you couldn’t find your phone in your giant purse, effectively admitting you faked having to pee to plan your escape. You played it off brilliantly though, finding your phone in your jacket pocket. Then you whipped it out, crafted a long text, and waited for a response. After a minute or two, your friend texted back and you informed me that she’d gone to a later yoga class than normal, was on the other side of town, and needed a ride home. I tried to avoid rolling my eyes (again, because I’m a gentleman) and played along. When the check arrived you jumped at it and put your credit card in the booklet. I informed you that it was rude for the man not to pay on a first (and only) date. You went all Beyoncé on me and told me that you had a job and made your own money. Thanks for informing me that it’s 2014, not 1950. Since you were ending the night abruptly under the thinly veiled guise of, “my friend’s in an emergency ‘stuck at yoga’ situation, and I’m the only person in the whole wide world she can call,” I gladly let you pay.
As we arrived at your apartment you asked me to drop you off at your garage. When I stopped in front of it, you hopped out with the speed of a woman who was fighting back explosive diarrhea and got into your car. It took me a few minutes to reach the exit due to the snow from the polar vortex we’re having, and at no time did I see any car pull out behind me, or approach my view, meaning you got out of your car as soon as I turned the corner, and walked into your apartment.
I’ve seen a rom-com or two, so I know the “friend emergency” line when I hear it. As well thought-out and flawlessly executed as yours was, please, spare me the condescension and tell me you want to go home. You’re not sparing a guy’s feelings by feeding him one of those lines. You’re simply insulting his intelligence.
The guy who saved $30 on drinks and appetizers