Date Zero with WryConsultant
I wore: AG Jeans (sluttiness +1), a cream-colored macrame/lacy shirt, (sluttiness +1), brown Ralph Lauren mules (-1 sluttiness) with 2 inch heels (+2 sluttiness), NARS blush in Orgasm (sluttiness +1), NARS lipstick in Pigalle (a rose color, sluttiness neutral), Joy perfume (sluttiness neutral). Overall sluttiness factor +4=still minor sluttiness, but moving into mainstream sluttiness ballpark. He wore: black t-shirt (eh.), jeans (eh.), loafers (good), watch (couldn’t determine what kind, so that gets a perfunctory eh.).
Upon my arrival, he said, “I thought we were dressing casual.”
“This is casual,” I said.
He said, “I like your shoes.”
I said, “Thanks.
He said, “Seriously.”
We met at a reasonably upscale pool hall, if there is such a thing. I walked in and every head in the place–I kid you not–turned. Before you object–or assume that I am being egotistical and/or delusional here–please be informed that I was the only woman in the establishment, with the exception of one cocktail waitress, and the youngest guy there other than my date was at least ten years older than I. Not a comfortable moment for me. Wishing I had chosen the non-cleavage outfit choice at that moment. WryConsultant found me, which is good, as I only had a general idea of what he looked like.
This is a shining example of the problem with hoping for too much on the Date Zero. In terms of general physical characteristics, this guy is exactly what I am usually attracted to, viz. brown hair, light eyes, reasonably tall, an overall J.Crew, WASP-y look. Yet, there was something not right about him for me physically. I would look at him occasionally and think, “OK, he’s attractive,” and then the next moment I’d think, “He looks so Cro Magnon.”
Right about here in the date is where I was reminded of how many issues I have.
Later in the evening I would find myself trying to pick out what physical characteristics he needed to change to become definitively good looking. If I were to hear of a man doing this, I would hate him, and the insanity of this thought pattern is not lost upon me. I realized I was reenacting that Seinfeld episode where Jerry doesn’t like the girl because she eats her peas individually with a fork. However, in the words of both YHWH and Popeye the Sailor Man, I am what I am.
Anyhoo, we played pool, a game with which I am somewhat familiar, but at which I am not very skilled, despite having a “billiards room” in my home growing up. Before you ask, no, my father is not Colonel Mustard. There is generally have about a five minute period in which I am really good at pool, and then I suck ass for the rest of the night. We played a game of 8-ball, and I sank five in a row, which made WryConsultant think I was actually good at pool, but I assured him that I would lose patience soon and not be able to hit anything in. I was right. We played several games, and there were several opportunities for him to be able to feel “masculine” by showing me how people who actually know what they are doing try to make shots. I asked for his help several times. He was pleased to give it. I also showed him how to play 9-ball, but he won, of course. I did not have to “let” him win because I am not good. That was useful.
After a couple of games, he wanted to know if I wanted to do something else. I said, “What do you have in mind?” which set into motion a series of back-and-forth time wasting queries until I finally explained to him that he was the legislative branch, that it was his job to come up with the plan, and then I would say if I wanted to do it, or veto it. So we ultimately decided to go to dinner, sushi, my favorite food, I was pleased. The food was good, and the conversation was pretty decent. He is a reasonable sushi eater—not an expert by any means, but definitely not a sushi poseur. I related the story of DoomedHistorian and the Shrimp Head Incident for him, and he came up with the description, “sushi poseur” before I told him that this was what I called DoomedHistorian.
We had already talked on the phone a few times, so I already knew he thought I was hysterically funny. Of course I am hysterically funny, but the fact that he, as a man, recognized this truth made him suspicious and menacing in my mind. He complimented me many times. He fished for info about other dates, and past relationships. I gave some vague generalities/evasions about the other dates, and after hesitating about the past relationships, said, “We’re not going to talk about that.” He thought this was droll.
At one point he managed to became more attractive in my eyes by talking about business. I’m still not sure that he is a good prospect in terms of financial stability (i.e. being at the point in his career where he is looking for a serious relationship), but he clearly knows a lot about what he does and he is pretty smart. This made him much more attractive, which was a good way to end the night. He walked me to my car, and emphasized how great it was to meet me. I suspect he will call again. I probably would go out with him again; however, I am on the fence about whether this could really go anywhere.