I am facing an epidemic of p-word men. Men are not supposed to be high maintenance. Go drink your scotch and grunt somewhere. I have enough time keeping myself together, I can’t worry about stroking your ego.
The past week has featured two separate p-word situations. I’m sitting back and observing, because I am not going to jeopardize my content solo life surrounded by pets and pillows if I’m expected to put in work before the first date even happens.
Scene #1: OkCupid
Message exchanges begins and goes very well. Witty, casual, shared interests. Without fail, responds within 15 minutes of every message, but reliable is nice sometimes.
Then comes: “Not sure if this is too forward, but I thought maybe you might be open to chatting on text. Here is my number if that’s ok with you.”
You’re not asking for a kidney. Just exchange the numbers and carry on.*
Accidentally on purpose I text a few days later.
“Oh it’s so great to hear from you. I assumed I had been too forward and felt bad for giving you my number.”
If he feels bad about giving me a phone number can you imagine the trauma if he was late to dinner one night?
Needless to say, he has not mustered the courage to schedule a date. He has referenced his diet and the gym on more than one occasion. I even know where his gym is located. And I know what he bought at the grocery store to “keep it tight. Girls don’t want any roundness.” I was not aware of that but fine.
He has referenced things we could do on a date:
What kind of food do you like? If we went on a date, I’d need to know.
Yet, no dates. And I’m neither holding my breath nor keeping it tight in anticipation. I’m keeping it cheese.
Scene #2: I didn’t meet this guy online.
I repeat: I DID NOT MEET THIS GUY ON LINE.
Automatic first place. A real person interesting enough in real life to exchange numbers/accept my number thrust at him.*
Except then the multiple texts by the time I got home from the bar.
“I’m so grateful we talked. I’m just kicking myself for not having the courage to come up to you myself and talk”
(Pro-tip: Avoid revealing weakness and lack of self-confidence in the first text. Really, withhold all emotions until the 6 month mark, and even then save the gratitude for things like pizza.)
He did manage to set up a date relatively soon, and follow up without assuming my scheduling issues were an outright rejection. Unfortunately the actual planning of the date involved multiple messages requiring multiple 3/3 screens worth of text. No restaurant in the zip code was left unsuggested. I seriously almost cancelled, nervous he would pee his pants when I walked in the door.
Once we met up we really had a nice time. No sarcasm. He was gentlemanly, easy to talk to, and lighthearted. A red flag or two but a good time. He went along with petty bar theft and wanted to bet on football. He wins and his prize was a 2nd date with me. Adorbs! Flirtation AND Gambling.
Get home and again a text from him. This time assuring me that he wants a second date but he wants me to know I don’t really have to follow through with the bet if I don’t want to because I shouldn’t ever have to do anything I don’t want to do but it would be really nice to go out again because (^&@&^#$%*&)^$@()!*&^#$.
I assured him I’d be happy to go out.
Few days later I ask how the rest of his weekend was.
“Saturday was the highlight. I had sweet dreams all night after meeting a wonderful lady: you! I hope to be able to relive the night.
And no date request since then.
I’ll go out with him again, despite risk of barfing. But a 44 year old needs to figure out on his own how to ask for a 2nd date without reciting a sonnet.
I don’t do high maintenance. No one should have to. Sexist or not, you need to man up.
*Just ask for my number. Seriously. Don’t make me do the work!!