Well kids, it’s been a minute since I’ve written about my dating experiences. Mostly because I avoid them. BUT I do have a story. This time its about me being an asshole. Kind of.
So I had gone out to brunch a few times with this gent (he doesn’t even get a nickname, because he wasn’t an ass) and on the third date, I invited him over for dinner and a movie. I was cooking dinner and he was bringing over the movie. I really wanted to see The Hobbit (what? I’m a few years behind the times) and he was willing to bring it by.
The first few dates were nice, he’s a nice guy, he really is. I wasn’t feeling a whole lot of spark, but I was willing to go out a few more times to see if it would maybe grow. Because sometimes that happens, right? The whole slow burn or however it get described in cheesy TV shows and romance novels. Not that I judge my love life (or lack thereof) based on those things, but sometimes friendships can develop into something more, and that’s all I was really thinking about.
Which means the 3rd date happened, the meal plan was red curry with jasmine rice, and while the rice was simmering away, he showed up. With flowers. And wine. Awww. I mean, seriously, awww. It was very sweet. And he tried to dance with me in the kitchen while the curry flavors were developing. Straight out of a chick flick. Except (there’s always an except with me it seems) conversation is usually pretty stilted between the two of us. We are both pretty nerdy, but we couldn’t seem to mesh in what we were talking about. Almost like when zipper teeth don’t match? It’s impossible to get the zipper up or down and it just hangs out awkwardly? Yeah, that’s kind of how conversations felt.
Anyway, we make it through dinner (which was fucking delicious, btw) and move to watch the movie. WHICH I HAD NOT SEEN. I make a big deal out of this, because apparently movie time meant make out time, but really I wanted to watch the hobbit/dwarf interaction. Whatever, he moves into kiss me, and it was, dry. Does that make sense? It was definitively along the lines of a closed lip peck from Aunt Murial. To keep this from turning into a blog post along the lines of a PG 13 romance novel I’m just going to get straight to the point, eventually he moves to kiss my neck. THE NEXT THING I KNOW HE IS LICKING MY FACE LIKE AN ICE CREAM CONE. If this has never happened to you, it’s a really weird sensation. My dog gives me kisses like that all the time, but you know, she’s a dog. That was it for me though, that was the mood killer and what told me that unfortunately I would not be into him as he was into me. I mean, the reaction of pushing away and wiping one’s face is pretty not sexy, so there was no rekindling.
It may be an asshole move on my end, because he was nice, there was just no attraction on my part, so I let him know. Wait, that reads worse that it was. I did tell him the spark wasn’t there for me, but I thought he was nice, and wished him luck. I think. Maybe I didn’t wish him luck, but mentally, I’m wishing him luck.