J: My date with a thumb

Context: Guys, help me. My Hinge streak is fizzling. I have a date lined up every day for a week and a half and only one has been good so far and I’m burning out and ACK. But, I’m at least capitalizing on this opportunity to try new restaurants fo’ FREE, so when ‘Thumb’ suggested a $$$$ restaurant in the Shaw neighborhood, I decided to go along for the ride. Even though he kind of looked like a thumb in his pictures (maybe a toe?) (big toe only).

Hey! Remember when my date ordered my dinner for me? And I swore up and down and around the block that I would never let that happen again? It happened. It. Happened. Again.

WHY DO MEN THINK THIS IS OKAY?! Do you not see my mouth?! Do you think that my petite feminine voice is too soft for the wait staff to hear? Do you just want to keep me in a little box and make sure I save my energy for doing your dishes and laundry and cooking you various meats?! Great! That fits perfectly into my life plan!!

My apologies, I’m getting ahead of myself, but I just came home in a rage and stress-ate a Reese’s brownie (sweet Jesus they’re good) and ranted to L for like 17 minutes while simultaneously shoving my legs into yoga pants and deleting thumb-man’s number from my phone. So just had to get that out there.

Thumb and I had exchanged basically no information on Hinge but he asked me out to Sixth Engine in DC, which I had never heard of but all entrees were greater than $20 and I rarely even spring for guac at Chipotle so this was my chance. I texted him from outside, and he came out to grab me and brought me to our table. My first impression was that he looked even more like a thumb than he did in his pictures.


My second impression was that he was boring AF (can you talk about anything besides work, PLEASE). My third impression was him ordering my dinner for me. Things were OBVIOUSLY GOING SWIMMINGLY!!!!

Halfway through our date Mr. Hottie McPerfectMan from my date on Friday texted me and asked me to come over and watch Netflix and I literally almost cried because I was trapped. Trapped between a thumb and a hard place.

When the waitress brought the check I just about hugged her. I was like “hmm did you Metro?” and he was like “LOL GAWD NO there’s not a metro stop within 0.5 miles and that’s my max walking distance. I took an Uber.”


It’s your what?

Sir Thumbs-a-lot, you are speaking to a girl who runs at least 3 miles a day, and walked 1.5 miles from the metro to a coffee shop, 1 mile from the coffee shop to this restaurant, and now 1 mile from this restaurant back to the metro. In a DRESS. And COWBOY BOOTS.

I love to hike. I want to ~*adventure*~. I’m an explorer! I expect any guy that I date to do these things with me. And you simply cannot walk more than half of a fucking mile on the flat, well-numbered streets of DC on a nice (albeit breezy, sorry everyone that I flashed) day? I hate you irrationally. He let me walk that mile to the metro by myself, at 9:30 PM, in the dark. I witnessed two fights. SUCH a gentleman.

No more thumbs. I will not date a man who looks like an extremity*. Or reminds me of terrifying Spy Kids characters.

*You’d think I would have learned my lesson when I was hooking up with a guy who bore a striking resemblance to a penis my junior year of college. His last name unfortunately rhymed with ‘foreskin.’ Apparently, I don’t learn lessons. I blame alcohol.


Posted in J

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