J: Get out of my car

Context: I had been talking to “Colorado” on Tinder and via text for about a week in early June. We made plans for me to pick him up at the Dunn Loring Metro station, then head to the Mosaic District Cava for dinner.

I had high hopes for this one. We had great banter over text, and I was really looking forward to meeting, falling madly in love, and taking romantic beach vacations together before his internship ended and he had to go back to school (yes, he was a rising senior… I am only partially a cougar… there are much worse things to judge me for). I should probably stop planning out my future life with someone before I meet them. Maybe?

So, I picked him up at the metro station… except I was like, bro where are you? And he was like, “Oh, I stopped at Starbucks to get a tea, because coffee is for heathens.” I was like “Cool, well now I have to drive to Starbucks, also if you don’t like coffee this is literally never going to work out because coffee is pulsing through my veins at all times.” He was like “K see you soon!”

I find him, he’s tall, looks like his picture, no speech impediments, good. He was pretty nervous, which I took as a good sign – haha, me, making someone nervous? My feminine powers strike again. Meow.

Our date was good, nothing to write home about. He paid, we ate, we chatted. The real kicker comes at the end. So, we’re walking back to my car and it starts to rain. He starts being such a fucking diva about his shirt getting wet, “It’s a nice shirt, I wear this to work, wahhhh” and I’m just like DUDE. Rain is water. Calm your tits.

So we’re driving back to the metro, and my contact starts bothering me. Only the left one, and it’s bothering me a lot, so I start tearing up. And before I know it, I’m full on crying out of my left eye only and Colorado is horrified. He obviously doesn’t understand why this girl he just ate dinner with is crying, and my repeated attempts at telling him it’s not me, it’s my contact are not working out. Then, he delivers maybe the best line I’ve ever heard on a tinder date:

Colorado: Hah, contacts? I’ve never even had glasses. Or braces, for that matter. I guess you could say I’m genetically gifted.

What I wanted to do and should have done was to stop the car at that instant and tell him to get out and walk back to the metro, but I’m an insufferably nice person so I did that whole “grin and bear it” thing until I got to the metro station. I gave him approximately 5 milliseconds to get out of my car, then sped away to the nearest Trader Joe’s to grab a bottle of wine.


P.S. Colorado: unless you shit diamonds, piss tequila and jizz fro-yo, you’re not genetically gifted. Hope you’re doing well!

Posted in J

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