I often write that I occasionally head into dates knowing – just knowing – that they’ll be disappointing.
I think of this as a sort of vestige of my more addictive, compulsive, driven behavior. I enter the date hoping against hope I’ll be surprised, that it’ll go differently than I already can tell it will go.
It never does.
And recently, I experienced a first: a date that, it was clear, was headed south, ended not with a goodbye, but with the woman abandoning me, telling me she was going to the ladies’ room, leaving me with her drink, and her umbrella, and disappearing.
Let me be clear: this has never happened to me. I’ve never done this.
I think, generally, I date people of a certain quality – a quality that makes it perfectly reasonable to say, “You know? This was fun. Take care.” Or even, “You know? This sucked. Take care.”
I’m a little baffled by this particular decision, particularly by someone who sent me a number of pictures that simultaneously revealed her face and her body.
I’m not that guy, and perhaps she correctly judged me.
All I can say is this: it was clear it was a bad date. Mutually. Why make a dick move like that?