Driving Home... Interrupted...

Otherwise known as... The Struggle is Real... 

I rejoined Match.com about a month ago in an effort not so much to find a true match, but to set my mind on future possibilities, rather than wallowing in what might have been... (Or might still be... time has yet to tell.)  The online dating world is fraught with quick judgment served with a side of superficiality.  Pics of men without shirts, showing off their six packs, or their tattoos, or the multitude of empty glasses in front of them displaying their work hard/play hard lifestyle.

These men are not for me.

And that is me quickly judging them.  And so the tables turn.

I went on a first date after returning to Match, with a man whom I had been trading emails, and then texts, about three weeks ago.  He worked as a maitre d' in a  in a restaurant not far from my home.  My first clue was that he misspelled maitre d'... but I attempted to reserve judgment.  Not everyone was born with a photographic memory, which is more of a curse than a blessing, but nonetheless helped me to obtain 100% on more spelling tests than I care to admit.

I just closed my eyes and saw the words on the page.

The downside to this memory is remembering the bad bits of life just as well as the good bits that help me excel in school and most areas of academia.

There are plenty of bad bits.  I prefer to dwell on the good.

So  after exchanging communication and finding enough common ground, we decided to meet for dinner.

It had been a long time since I met a first date for dinner.  In today's pragmatic life, most single folk meet for coffee or a drink the first time embarking on in-person interaction.

And that is for a reason.  ;-)

So with butterflies in my stomach (because I am forever hopeful) we met at a Mexican restaurant on a late Saturday afternoon.   He had texted to let me know he was already there.

Always good to know heading into a first date that a stood-up situation has been averted. ;-)

When I arrived at the restaurant, he stood to meet me, we hugged (which is what people do nowadays) and we sat at our enormous booth.  He told me I looked great (always nice) and then proceeded to say the following:   I know my profile said I had some college, but I never went to college, and I feel like that's nobody's business, but I wanted you to know.  And I feel uncomfortable around smart people.

Okay, no problem, I get it. 

(Ummm.... what am I doing here?)

This was the first first date in a while that I had actually met someone for a real meal and not just coffee or a drink.  Coffee is safe.  Beer is safe.  With either, one can assess whether one wants to spend additional time with the other half of the first first date and act accordingly.  The coffee date stretches to a movie date.  The drink date stretches to a dinner date.  When you go all in on a meal, that's a commitment.  One you might regret.

On this particular evening... I regretted.  But it's all part of the process.

We got to know each other, and talked about our families in brief.  He filled me on on his coworkers private lives, and the check was paid.  I knew I'd never see him again, and offered to pay my half.  He wouldn't have it.  Which made me feel even more guilty.

We made our way to my car, and hugged, and as I was checking my gps for the best route home there was a tap on my window.

Ummm... Jen... I hate to ask this, but my car won't start, and I live around the corner...

My head had all kinds of thoughts swirling about.  The most vivid?  Jen, this is when  you become sausage.  

But my humanity couldn't say no, and so I drove him home, knowing that I would never see him again.  It was less than 10 minutes, and clearly I wasn't turned into sausage.  I watch too much Criminal Minds.


That evening he texted, as I knew he would, saying how much he enjoyed the date and hoped to see me again soon.

I let him down gently.  When it's right you know it's right... and when it's wrong you know it's wrong.  And that's part of the struggle, and the dance... of singledom.