So, I went on a date last night and I made certain to let all of my friends know when and where I was going in the event that I would need to be rescued. I made sure to utilize Facebook’s innovative “check in” feature in effort to be as conspicuously detailed as possible – I suppose I did everything short of implanting myself with a microchip.
It’s not paranoia so much as astute cautionary measures that a newly single lady who has been out of the dating game for a few years might find it duly necessary to take. I also have some very protective friends, which I am sincerely appreciative of. One of those caring friends even asked for me to develop a “code word” in the unlikely occurrence that the date went awry. The plan was simple: Text him the code word and he would call my phone with an excuse as to why I would have to excuse myself permanently.
There was one awkward moment, while sipping on a deliciously flaming margarita at a busy Mexican bar that I almost pulled my cell phone out when my date went to check on our table reservation. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and no other moment during the remainder of the date did I find it necessary to use a code word.
All in all, the date was fun. We laughed, we flirted and we drank – a lot. I knew what I was getting myself into – I had to test my “guys I meet in bars” theory and my rule one last time, though. I promised myself at the beginning of the year that I would not date guys I meet in, at or around bars and I met this guy in a bar. And I got exactly what I expected from a first date with a guy I met in a bar. Having been out of the dating game for quite some time, I still managed to see right through his game, which fortunately kept me one step ahead the entire evening. Ultimately, I viewed this date as a sort of social experiment that I can say I actually enjoyed.
As the evening came to its close, thirty-five-year old, Swiss, attractive Zack with the receding hair line succeeded in getting the girl drunk – not drunk enough to be shocked by his audacious question, however.
How long’s it been since you’ve had sex?” He overconfidently asked me, reaching for his tequila on rocks.
Stunned by the boldness of this question, I responded curtly, “Last week. Why?” Clearly this was none of his goddamned business but I was überly curious to see where he was intending on going with this.
The dumbfounded expression upon his face told me that this was not the answer he expected. And then he cheekily continued, telling me that he assumed it had been awhile. In my mind, I was tartly thinking, oh and your egotistical ass thinks you’re gonna save my sexual drought with your cock tonight, huh? Zack then proceeded to ask me if I enjoyed the sex that I had last week.
What the fuck!? He just took this social experiment to an entirely new level and don’t think I didn’t let him know how intrusively bizarre I found his twenty questions before letting him know with supreme pride, “Yes, I did.” Then, I of course, countered his strange interrogation with my own – not that I gave a shit when his last romp in the sheets was but I felt it only fair that he, too, fess up some personal business after that showdown.
Up until this invasive conversation, the most personal it had gotten was my preference in alcohol, whether or not I liked salt on the rim of my glass and the reasoning behind my decision to become a pescetarian.
As a single woman who has never enjoyed dating too much to begin with, I have learned to let go of the stress and pressure that can sometimes surround these mostly awkward encounters. This allows for more fun to be had and fun is exactly what I had with Zack. Do I think this will go anywhere of quality? Chances are slim to NOPE but I thrive on experience and this date was nothing short of an experience. Not to mention, it makes for hilarious conversation with friends and some fun, interesting writing material!