I’ve had a couple of dates tell me that they’ve been on terrible first dates.
You should see the way my eyes light up.
Then I play it cool and instead of squealing, “Tell me tell me tell me tellmetellmetellme pleeeeeeeeeease?” I say something like, “Oh please tell me right now I mean if you want to but definitely say yes.”
One guy said, “Oh she just wasn’t very….this sounds mean….interesting. I just couldn’t tell what she was into. She had a job she didn’t like very much, and said she wasn’t into the neighborhood where she lived, and didn’t really seem to have any hobbies. She wanted to go to a second bar and I was pretty done but I said ok, and then it was just more of the same.”
Another guy started by saying, “She didn’t like Dave Matthews.”
I was like, NO! I can’t believe she isn’t in jail yet.
I mean, he also said, “I was 17 and it was my first real date. I took her to a fancy French restaurant my parents liked—it wasn’t that fancy, but it felt that way to a 17-year-old—and then she didn’t like any of the food. And then we got in my car and she didn’t like Dave Matthews. And this was about 2000. Everyone liked Dave Matthews.”
Ok, so they weren’t a match. And at 17, I totally get how disappointing it is to finally be on a real date, in your own car, with someone cute next to you, and your favorite music playing, and to have that person wet blanket all over that experience. I both did it and had it done to me.
I’ve also spent some of the best moments of my life driving in a car with the windows down and a cute boy wearing shades and tapping along to music on my leg and clearly feeling on top of the world. That’s a scene I don’t tire of. And it’s one that actually translates from books and movies. Glory!
Anyway, those are not truly terrible dates.
This is a truly terrible date:
My friend KP was new to Tinder. I convinced her onto it while we were eating Molly Moon’s after tap class one Sunday night and she set it up right there. That makes at least six single, amazing, strong, kick-ass women I’ve convinced onto Tinder. You’re welcome, men of America.
KP had a date set up before the sun went down. This is why Tinder is great. You want it? You got it. It’s the fast food of online dating, and fast food is delicious. I want a Blizzard. Small, oreo.
KP shows up to meet at the bar they’d agreed upon in downtown Seattle, which turns out to be a hotel bar. Because he lives in the hotel.
Which sounds sort of weird, but ok, the answer is he travels for work a lot, and is here five days a week and in San Francisco the other two.
Why does he go back to San Francisco on the weekends? The answer’s already slowly dawning on KP as she looks down at his hand and sees a wedding ring. Because he’s married.
KP tells him she has to go, turns around to ask the waiter for the check, and when she turns back to him, he grabs her face and plants one her lips.
“At that point, I was so shocked that all I could think about was how I was going to describe this to my friends.”
See: the best part of Tinder is talking about it with your friends.
KP pushes away from him and takes off.
You know all those guys who ghost and you wonder why, because you both appeared to have a good time and be reasonable, sane, attractive people? This winner texted KP multiple times the next day, asking when they could hang out again.
That is a terrible date. Stop it with these Dave Matthews band and “I just wasn’t into her” stories.
Bring me your liars, your greedy scumbags, your hotel dwellers and name droppers and professional magicians. Bring me your sloppy drunks, your bad tattoos, your awkward kisses, your so-close near-misses.
(KP, by the way, also set up a date with a second guy that same first day on Tinder. He already had her number by the time she deleted her account 48 hours later. They’re still dating.)