The chances of a first date going well and both parties agreeing to a second one are probably fifty-fifty.
There are a lot of factors that go into play when agreeing to second date. Maybe both of these people are just looking for sex. In that case, a second date would more than likely lead to intercourse or at the very least some kissing and light touching.
Perhaps these two hypothetical people saw something in one another and just want to see where it goes. You can’t get all of the information you need in one date, and a second one might be necessary in deciding where all of this goes.
Three dates in and you should be able to ascertain whether or not the person who continues to sit across the table from you is worth seeing long-term. The first date sets the tone, though. You either leave your mark on the first date or you don’t. It’s that fucking simple.
The first date is where one of two things happens: you get egg all over your face or a green go-ahead light to pursue.
There’s a chill in the air as you’re getting dressed despite it being somewhere around eighty degrees outside. The hair on the back of your neck is at attention and because you’re meeting at a seedy taco joint you can’t decide between a t-shirt and a hooded zip-up sweatshirt with nothing on underneath.
You’re getting ready for a date while that “Discover Weekly” Spotify playlist plays faintly from your open laptop on your bed. What’s playing over the speakers while you get changed isn’t of any consequence.
The focus will be on “saying all of the right things” when you sit down with whats-her-face despite the fact that you have no idea what “saying all of the right things” constitutes.
Deliberate sips are taken from a pint glass filled with Michelob Ultra, Bud Light, or maybe even Zima. The two drink minimum before a first date is in full effect. Half a beer later and you’re so nervous now that downing the other half seems like a Herculean effort.
The hour leading up to a first dinner date is the same for everyone. You’re nervous, excited, unsure of yourself, and desperately trying to figure out what the hell you’re going to talk about for 45 minutes to an hour.
You can cut the tension in the air with a dull butter knife, but try not to give into the temptation of looking at your phone. Keep your eyes on hers. The sad reality of the situation at hand is that you’ll both know within the first ten minutes if you want to see the other person for a second date in the next week or so. You can’t force chemistry and small talk gets you at most ten minutes.
Avoid any talk of exes unless she brings it up first and do not under any circumstances get drunk. Let your date set the drinking pace. If you want to get fucked up with him/her, do it after dinner at a bar down the street.
Relax with questions like “What’d you major in in college?” and “How was Greek life there?”
Those are old hat. This isn’t a job interview – it’s a date.
If you can do it, skip the small talk entirely. Get to something interesting. Trade conspiracy theories on the space time continuum and Stevie Wonder.
Talk about that time you got seated next to Bradley Whitford (of “West Wing” and “Billy Madison” fame) at a wedding in South Michigan and he wouldn’t take a picture with you after the reception ended.
Sidenote: that Bradley Whitford story actually happened to me. Still enjoy the guy despite the fact that he was a total dick to me. Feel free to steal that story yourself if you run out of things to talk about.
First dates have forever been a cocktail glass full of anxiety, excitement, and uncertainty. I wouldn’t want it any other way and I hope you don’t either. It’s where rubber meets the road. Where you put up or shut up. Good luck and Godspeed. .
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