I had a first date today for coffee, a coffee date, with a man we shall call CD because I am very clever.

I met CD on ehm during their free weekend. The funny thing about the free weekend is that I could not see his photos, but I really did not care. I knew his alleged height (tall), his ethnicity (same as LP), and his professional and educational background. He seemed nice, but probably not particularly cool. Still, he asked me to coffee and I figured, “eh, why not?” After we’d exchanged a few emails, I guessed who he was (my google-fu is strong), which he later confirmed, so I saw his photos on facebook. Very fit. Very tall. Not particularly handsome.

Rather than meet him at the place he suggested, which is actually quite cool, I ultimately countered with a place in my hood so that I could walk there.

I was 10 minutes late. I emailed, hoping he was bb equipped, but I was also not terribly pressed about it. I hated being rude, but I was completely unmotivated. I had all of the exhilaration of my BFD meeting, coupled with the possible reconciliation with LP this weekend, and a date set with N for next Friday. Before I left, I got a work-related email from BFD, who’d been working all morning on the day he was flying out for his competition, and I preferred to respond to him before leaving.

Yes, this makes me an asshole.

To be perfectly frank, a lot of my date with CD makes me an asshole. It was not, at any point, my best foot forward.

And yet, he has already asked me out again and our one hour date expanded to 2.5 hours.

I am out of his league and we both know it. I am also a bit of a diva, and we both now know that, too. And I told him about BFD, as an ex, but still. BFD, the mere fact of him, makes people uncomfortable.

We were talking about athletic competitions. CD is a runner and a cyclist. My ex A was a competitive cyclist, BFD is a competitive athlete in a sport that one cannot do here, so that leads naturally to other questions (most importantly, “what does he do???), which I answered. No man likes to hear “my ex boyfriend retired in his mid 30s and now owns companies and spends half the month at competitions and the rest of the year training all over the world.” Think about what that means if you are a normal person. It does not even make sense. It does make you think, um, if that’s who you date, what are you doing here with me?

(When I’d first met LP I told him about BFD. He recalled it on our first date, coldly, because even his wealthy ass cannot quite accept the “your ex boyfriend chooses to work when he’s not flying around the world to compete” reality.)

Still, he handled it all with aplomb. I told him what I had done for a living, the cultural thing, the other thing, the other other thing, and what I do now. All of it can be offputting. You know people do these things, but you don’t necessarily think that the woman sitting across from you in the coffee shop is one of them. And yet . . .

Again, it means I am out of his league. It means I should be dating the BPs, BFDS, Ns, and even LPs of the world. K, had she still be in Europe, would never date E.

Again, as always, I digress. We went for a walk after coffee for an hour, through my hood, then through the park, with a destination in mind, an errand he had for a race, then back. It was nice. We chatted about exes and family and all of the things you’re not supposed to discuss on a first date, but you always do because you’re grown people and your exes are another signifier of who you are.

I told him I have been on six first dates in 10 years. He was #6. And it’s true: A, BP, N, BFD, LP, and now CD. I did tell him the result of each: 7 years, 3 dates, 1 date, a year, and 3 months. Technically of course, the last two are still ongoing, but whatever, it’s my story. I told him it’s unclear where he’d fall.

It felt nice to be completely myself without really caring about the impression I made. There was no anxiety, no stress, no fear that he wouldn’t like me. (I treat LP this way for the most part, along with N.) I was just me, love me or hate me.

He walked me past a restaurant — very funky, hippie place — where he’d like to take me. I live in an entertainment district so I am surrounded by all manner of restaurants and we discussed them.

He drove me home after and I said, to prevent awkwardness, I am going to hug you, and I did. That was it.

I emailed him my thanks for a lovely afternoon and he responded back by asking me out again. He has been willing to joke with me and he takes me seriously, but knows my life is ridiculous. The I work all the time, except when I take months off, did not scare him, the I have taken last minute trips to Europe on a whim to see sporting events did not scare him, even the my father is a very holy man in your faith, which I do not share, did not scare him. So I will definitely go out with him again.

I am vivacious and fun and that was what I showed him. I was also a diva, late, and a snob. All good things, all bad things. He rolled with it all.

A nice first date, to be sure. Not life changing, not the best first date ever like with BFD or the most intense ever like with LP, but very nice.

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