#ADULTING
If dating gay men is comparable to playing a video game, I suck at it. No pun intended. However, following the smashing conclusion to my second date with Theodore, I was miraculously still in the game. Unlocking the key to the elusive third date, I took to Facebook to announce my win. “IT IS NOT GAME OVER YET!” I updated my status, with gratitude.
“What would you like to do this Tuesday?” I texted Theodore J. Nelson. I could think of 1000 pandemic-friendly date ideas to suggest; but I calmed myself.
“How about a Negroni and a movie?” he wrote back.
“That sounds great. If you’d like, you can come over to mine this time.”
“I look forward to it.”
The moment I put down my phone I asked my roommate Google to play “Smooth Operator.” As the bongo drum beat reverberated throughout the Fox Den, a cheeky smile tangoed its way across my lips. Pouring a luscious glass of red wine as Sade took over the microphone, I lit a candle in anticipation for the saxophone solo. Then I remembered it was only ten o’clock in the morning. Then I screamed.
At my last session with Counselor Dahn, her advice to me about dating was to remind myself that I am good enough.
“Repeat after me,” she said, her voice as gentle as the brushstroke on a Bob Ross painting, “I am good enough.”
Sitting upright on the couch in her office, I said, “I am good enough…” While I could hear the words spoken out loud, I refrained from telling Dahn what my inner voice continued. “… as soon as I get new bedding, lose twelve pounds, quit smoking, and learn how to say, ‘5 ounce’ without sounding like all my dreams have just been crushed.
“To appear as a successful grown man, I would also need other beverage options that did not come in a box.”
On the morning of our third date, I woke up like a 36-year-old man who had just become an adult. After pouring a cup of coffee into my ‘Limited Edition Collector’s Rugged Fox and CLARK’ mug, I proceeded to scrub my apartment like my mom was coming to town. Taking all the empty wine bottles and paper McDonald’s bags to the bin, I made sure to clear everything off my bathroom counter except for the soap.
Proceeding next to the liquor store, I took out my shopping list and grabbed a cart. To make a single cocktail, I would need equal parts gin, Campari, and red vermouth. To appear as a successful grown man, I would also need other beverage options that did not come in a box. Rolling the cart past Chile, Italy, and Spain, I stopped over in France. “This should do it,” I said to myself, grateful that Bordeaux was in season. When I got to the till my bill was $250.
Feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket, I was overcome with delight by the thought that Theodore was messaging already. Except when the screen lit up, it was not him at all. It was an unpleasant alert from Scotiabank notifying me that my account was in overdraft. Scoffing, I switched the phone to silent and reminded myself that a) I am good enough and b) adulting is expensive.
By the time I returned to the Fox Den, I had purchased cocktail glasses from CB2, antipasto from Whole Foods, flowers from the convenience shop on Robson, and a new shirt from Club Monaco. The date had not even happened and already I had spent half a grand.
When the sun began to set, I was surprised that I had not heard from Theodore. Searching for my phone, I nearly collapsed when I found it. Three missed calls and one text message from my date, “…severely ill … at hospital.”
