J: You’re perfect… but not for me

Context: I had been talking sporadically with “Gentleman” on Tinder for a couple weeks. Our conversation had sort of fizzled off, but I restarted it in a moment of boredom (waiting for the Metro, classic) and we decided to meet up for lunch at Lyon Hall on a Wednesday.

Before we begin, I would like to say a word of thankfulness to the men of Tinder who include their height in their bio. Transparency is so key, and I tend to think that I’m a good judge of general height based on your pictures but like there’s always the off chance that the friends you’re standing with are all midgets, or they’re college basketball players, or the more prevalent case of “wait, which one are you?” And height is IMPORTANT, guys. I’m a solid 5’10 with a penchant for heels, and I like my men to be tall and strong so that they can protect me (from other men, and maybe the occasional squirrel). Also so that we look good in pictures together. Also because I’m beginning to have back problems from maybe my desk job or maybe bending over a tub of hummus in front of the open refrigerator when I’m home alone. Either way, I really shouldn’t be crouching when I smooch or talk to or butterfly kiss (aww) my lover. So whether you are five-something or six-something or literally any other kind of something, shout it to the world! (of Tinder) (the most important world, probably).

On to the date! Gentleman is a super busy guy, taking law school classes, TEACHING law school classes, teaching rock climbing, saving small animals from trees, buying me food (baby, I’m worth it)… the list goes on. So when I suggested that we meet up, he originally suggested that we have a “productivity session.” I was like “da fuqq* is that” and he clarified that we would meet up in a coffee shop, get drinks, and do our work together while occasionally speaking. I’m fairly certain that this is the equivalent of “Netflix and chill?” for the busy law student. I told him that my work was top secret and that I’m actually a CIA agent, so I am only allowed to go on dates that involve no computers and probably a grilled chicken sandwich. He ceded, because *shockingly* even super busy rock-climbing class-teaching polka-dancing** lawyers need to eat, and we set up a lunch date.

*I am the whitest person I know, but sometimes like to entertain my ghetto fantasies
**Ok, so I made up the polka-dancing part, but this could potentially have some truth to it maybe

As I was trying to be respectful of Gent’s time, I arrived at Lyon Hall a few minutes early and stood outside, scrutinizing those around me. There was some dude just having the time of his life attempting to parallel park, and I was SURE it was him, but then the guy got out of the car and was somewhere between 90 and 103 years old so I shifted my attention elsewhere. Side note, isn’t there like a maximum age for driving? Just wondering. Anyway, I got a text from him that was like “My meeting ran late, be there in 3! :)” and I was like “Aww smiley face he seems so nice” and then I was like shoulders back, boobs out, suck it in, look casual, but smile, no no no not that big you look like a doofus, oh shit is that him? It was him. He was gorgeous, and he was smiling big, like a doofus. It put me at ease. Until he got closer. And I realized he was, like, 5’8 on a good day. Aaaaaaand over before it even began.

The rest of the date was spent vetting him for one of my (shorter) roommates. And he is DAMN spectacular. Very nice, so adventurous, the most gentlemanly person I’ve ever met, yadda yadda yadda. Seriously, guys, Tinder Up. It’s gonna be a thing. He paid for my grilled chicken sandwich (basic bitch? more like basically bitchin’ because it had a WHOLE PICKLE on top, jackpot) and walked me back to my apartment. Have I said the word gentleman enough? Here’s one more time for good measure. GENTLEMAN. He mentioned that he had a lot of beer and wine at his place, and that I should come pregame there this weekend. I was like “YES I WILL BRING MY ROOMMATES” and he was like “Ok!” and then all was right with the world.

To conclude, there are good and nice guys out there, and it’s very awkward to try to eat a whole pickle on a first date.


2 thoughts on “J: You’re perfect… but not for me

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