I took one long drink of my vodka and said that I would love to know his first impression on me. I mean, one of the best things about going on dates with people is you get to learn things about yourself that maybe no one else could have showed you. So, yes. I wanted to hear what this stranger thought about me.
Kim agreed to meet me for a drink at a NYC bar that insisted on having no name and an unwritten dress code rule that men should wear suspenders. I wore a belt; like an adult.
Jews represent 0.2% of the world population. Assuming this is split 50/50 among men and women (it isn’t) I am left with 0.1% of the population. Since half of those people live in Israel, and many of them are too young or too old, I have statistically dated more than my share of Jews.
Here I was: 30 years old, shaving my own back and wishing, if only for a moment, that I had a wife. A wife who loved me so unconditionally that this basic grooming ritual would not appall her. Sure, right now I could handle it, but I am only 30… what will happen 10 years from now, or even five?
First, she tried to get met to go to fancy Boston eateries; this was doomed to fail. I was living on a part time tire sales job at the time. So suggesting that I pay for food and drinks at an expensive restaurant was misguided. It was either food OR drink, but never both, and I quickly made my decision.
The truth is that sex, for me, does not depend on love. Some of the best sex I ever had was emotionless, and some of the worst was with someone I loved deeply. There is no great mystery to this, it’s simply biology. The reason why the sex I had with Carol was better than with Bernice was because Carol was prettier. And she knew Yoga.
Suddenly it became abundantly clear why she was both on Tinder and agreed to go on a date with me. The evening went slowly, as more and more horrid information about her life was unceremoniously and without prodding or request forced down my throat.
Attraction is not subjective. There are objective guidelines of what is sexy… or at the very least I know that waking up feeling bloated surrounded by empty beef jerky bags (yes PLURAL) is not considered remotely arousing.
When I look at my reflection- hunched over with a beer gut and no pants- I can’t help but wonder what kind of creature would want to date this mess?
“So your favorite book… ‘s Atlas Shrugged?” I slur.