Between my friends and I, we are racking up the bad dates. In fact, if we were to all sit down and catalog the dates, we could easily compose a book of dating disasters every New York gay, and probably girl, is going to face at some point.
For every ten to twenty bad dates, you then get one good date. This is a rough estimate as it’s been a while since my last good date…and I’m not entirely sure of when it took place or with whom. So, the date: I met this gentleman on OkCupid, it’s one of the semi-reliable sources for meeting people who are only 60% looking to get into your pants. Those are good odds for a successful first date.
Meeting at Lincoln Center we settled on a bar I’d never noticed. Set on the second floor, the entrance looks like it’s heading into theater seating for an opera. This is one of those times I’m happy to have put my nipples away beforehand and dressed in non-tank top attire. With manners blaring we sat, sipping wine and making polite with the bartender. Though, it did end up with me and the bartender having the most ‘bro’ moment of my life and high-fiving over Irish livers. That’s an alcoholic reference in case you’re unfamiliar with the Irish people.
The conversation was steady, relaxed and pretension free. Everything went well right from the start. Which makes me wonder when it will go terribly wrong. Not the best way to think, but I’m still a pessimist at the end of the day. This date gets extra points for insisting on paying. Splitting the check is so common I have no memory of the last time I didn’t pay all or at least half the check.
A few more drinks and we decided to call it a night. Seeing as we were on the West Side and 65th Street cuts right through the park it was easy to walk home. The date walked me to the entrance of the park. It seemed as though he wanted to come in for a good night kiss, but was too nervous or afraid of the onlookers. I took the initiative to make it happen, unfortunately it was a clumsy miss-kiss as he’s about an inch shorter than me and was standing on a downhill slope. It’s the kind of moment that romantic comedies exploit to make you like the main characters.
Because things went so well I even put the effort in the next day to send the first ‘hi’ text. According to the Russian, “it’s the bottom’s job.” Now we are in that phase of wait and see. Was the date really as good as I believed it to be, or will this guy just be another random nobody that is forgotten three days from now?