Swole Delts
December 25, 2017 – TorontoÂ
Let’s start at the very beginning. My online dating exploits began where I assume they all do:
a long-term relationship ending in a messÂ
several months later still not over it
friends pushing to just try the apps because “You gotta get back out there!” Translation: “no one can abide by a single woman in her 30s…desperate times, call for desperate measures, honey!”
eventually breaking down and downloading one of the stupid things
several matches fizzling out
finally finding some kind of texting rapport with a stranger
agreeing to meet him despite the fact that the mere thought of it makes you want to vomit
He proposed meeting the night of December 25; he was Jewish and I had no issue cutting short the wine-soaked, passive aggressive festivities that are my WASP family’s holiday tradition.
He researched and found the one bar that seemed to be open on Christmas; I did my part and didn’t back out any of the hundred times that I was desperate to.
He was funny: I’m a sucker for funny…that’s how I got stuck with my ex
He had nice shoulders: I’m a sucker for swole delts…aren’t we all indoctrinated by Disney movies to want a guy to sweep us up like nothing and carry us off into the sunset?
He was Jewish: I’m a sucker for Jewish guys…we’d have to get Freudian to really figure that one out—maybe because one of my earliest memories of marriage is decorating a chuppah as a 5 year old flower girl (gah I hate myself if that’s really why!)
The drinks went well. He was a spontaneous guy—we were already in Koreatown, how about we go to karaoke? I am not spontaneous—in fact I’m far too pragmatic for my own good, but I’m trying to work on that, so I ignored by initial qualms (karaoke with just 2? SUPER awkward! There will be no buffers to block out my terrible voice) and went with the spontaneity.Â
The singing went better than I imagined…but it was still pretty awkward. After a few songs, he asked if we could make out. I appreciated his interest in consent, and I also really wanted to, so we did. Almost immediately, he started biting my lip and tugging my hair —that’s new, is this what kissing is like now? How long have I been out of the game that making out has gotten rough?!
He invited me back to his place but I politely declined. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no prude and I don’t mind the occasional playful bite etc. but for me, that’s as high as the dial goes, but if that’s where a guy starts, wtf does he do when it’s time to crank it up to 11?!
I’d like to say that that’s where it ended, and that I definitely did NOT message him the next day, but I think we all know that I most certainly did. Sigh. It was early days and, as much as it pains me to admit, my friends’ subtext had been right: I was desperate.
Lesson the first: guys can smell desperation through text.Â
I never saw him again.
