Hmm. This one was a head scratcher…
A Thursday night date is always tricky. If you are anything like me, you are always trying to squeeze one more thing into your workday before you head out for the night. After a crazy day of scuttling around the office like a busy worker bee (and loving it), I finally glanced at the clock and realized I was in trouble. I flew down the stairs to the women’s lockerroom and hurriedly slipped into my #lifesaver non-wrinkle dress. A quick glance at my cell phone revealed how far behind schedule I was. It was either curl my hair or get my booty to the restaurant to make it on time. Naturally, I chose the latter. (Just kidding — of course I stayed behind to curl my hair. Obviously.)
Jeremy and I met at Collette in Bloomie. Fortunately, we were both running late when I showed up breathless and wreaking of Aveda Air Control and Escada Moonflower. We were whisked to our table and after a few minutes of “I’m so sorry I’m late” and “I need to spit out my gum – where’s some paper?” conversation, he hit me with the big question. So, why, exactly, are you paying for this service? He spoke from a position of resentment so I turned the question back on him, feeling he likely had something he needed to air. Turns out, this was his absolute last It’s Just Lunch date. Overall, Jeremy had not enjoyed his previous 14 dates and was calling it quits-to-bits. Meeting the IJL ladies wasn’t any fun and felt like work versus entertainment. He hadn’t met the caliber of mademoiselle he had hoped for. Fair enough. Listening to him, however, I felt fortunate that although I hadn’t yet met Mr. Perfect Amazing Stud Man 2011, I was still enjoying my mis-matched dates for what they are — a chance to share a moment with someone who could shape your life forever or for the next five minutes. That’s worth something.
Firstly, Jeremy had a six-year-old son, which is — cringe — sort of a total deal breaker for me. Sorry. Secondly, Jeremy, real estate extraordinaire, was rolling in the dough and not afraid to declare it. He had thrown down so many dollar figures within the first five minutes of meeting me that I was struggling to keep up. Spouting off your accomplishments in numeral form is probably one of the least attractive things a man can do on a date. Surely, your priorities are not in the right place. Yet, he kept going, keeping up a steady diatribe of angst against the institution of professional dating.
It was weird. Although the lines had been drawn — no second date would surely take place — we kept chatting. I hadn’t met anyone who was diametrically opposed to me before he had even met me, and I found the conversation was keeping me on my toes. My randomness irked him, my off-the-wall hand gestures annoyed him and my snarky comments simply fell flat. I hadn’t been on a date that honest in a long time and it was refreshing. Although, please read above, this was clearly going nowhere.
We didn’t exchange numbers or pretend to be interested in more and this stick-to-reality approach was interesting. Onwards and upwards, my friends.
Next up — Brent. Then Luis, my mini Millionaire Matchmaker man.