Can I Bring My Sweater Vest?
No. Literally. I signed up for six months, and then went on one date using the match making site HowAboutWe. Now, let me back up. This isn't really HowAboutWe's fault. Approximately 31 days after signing up for the site, I started dating someone. And so it goes.
But my one date is worthy of sharing.
He made such an impact on me, I can't remember his name, so we will call him Jim. Jim's job was "Assassin" (badass!), he liked rock climbing (so fit!) and Oxford commas (so smart!) and he ran a marathon in a Gumby costume (stupid...and hilarious?) His suggested date included The Moth AND milkshakes. Add in a winning lotto ticket, and we've struck gold here, folks!
I messaged him about The Moth. I love dates where I can sit there and laugh and not get ostracized. He said "How about a drink? I know a great happy hour place." This wasn't exactly what I was thinking, but alright, I'm game. I dig it. Let's happy hour.
I met him after he got off work. He looked nothing like his pictures (raise your hand if you are surprised. Anybody? Not one?). Jim wore a sweater vest. Not ironically. In fact, I think its the same sweater vest we buy my father every year for Christmas, from Brooks Brothers. Even if there were rock climbing muscles, which I doubted at this point, I couldn't see them.
We found moments of connection. We were both Jews. We were both New Yorkers. We were Jewish New Yorkers. End scene.
The waiter came over with menus. I was starving, so I was looking forward to shoving food directly into my mouth.
"Just wine," Jim said, without even looking up at me.
"Excuse me?" I replied. The last thing I wanted was to get sloppy on one glass of chardonnay and make out with this guy.
"I don't eat before noon and after eight," he said. "Your body doesn't need food during that time."
"Those are the only hours I eat," I responded.
I think it was at this point Jim decided he couldn't spend his life with me. I won't deny it. It's 1am and I'm snacking AS I WRITE THIS.
Jim asked me about the book I'm writing. I started to tell him and then he said, "I wrote a book." "Ok," I said. I don't know if he was trying a last ditch effort to impress me, but if so, it had the opposite effect. Dating a writer is less appealing than dating a crack addict. "You could like go to Barnes & Noble right now and buy it."
"What kind of book?" I asked. "Fiction?"
"A Dummies Guide."
This could have gone two ways. If it was a Dummies Guide to vegetarian cooking or staying organized or walking in high heels or successful dating in New York City maybe I would have asked for a free copy, or at least not laughed. But it was a Dummies Guide to HTML, and so I laughed.
And that was that. Once you laugh in a guys face, that is just about the right time to chug that wine, pay that tab, and high tail it to the supermarket before it closes at nine. And that's what I did.