People joke that if you don’t have sex you’ll get rusty and forget how. It occurred to me that this may also apply to dating. I hadn’t been on a first date since November of 2009, and decided I better make some effort before officially retiring to my world of solitude.
I’m not a brunch person but agreed to meet my date one Sunday morning for a quick bite. This is slightly ironic because London (Who by the way now lives in NYC and is being called: No Longer London) invites me to brunch now and then and it never works out. Brunch is just such a pain in the ass, the only benefit is getting to drink without judgement. Keeping with my naming convention, this guy has been deemed, The Doctor. Oral Doctor to be specific – and I mean that in the surgical context.
The date was actually decent. It was nice to talk to someone that wasn’t trying to get me in a cab with my pants around my ankles. It may be because he’s a slight bit older than I am… twenty years give or take. The only downside is that he’s in the commitment phase as he inches closer to death more quickly than myself. Not sexy. Anyone looking for commitment should get a kitty. It never works when someone tries to smother me with anything other than a pillow.
A second date has been planned, but only after running into The Doctor in Union Square. It was comically uncomfortable as I was with Shew and the questions started coming. To be honest, I don’t like my friends or family knowing about my dating life (what little of one I now have). They pry, pester and bug the shit out of me.
As long as the dating continues, sharing the experience with the world outside of my immediate contacts seems best. People in cyberspace are so easy to relate.