The Definition of a Date
I have always said, “if I am going to wake up next to a man in bed, he better be a prince.” Well, as it turns out, dreams do come true; because each morning, I greet the day with Prince Harry in hardcover by my side. As the rain pours outside, the two of us gingers tuck under the cozy duvet cover. As he tells me his life story, I sip a cup of dark roast and eat a bagel with a low-fat cream cheese. This morning, I did finally manage to put him down. “It is my turn to write Harry,” I said, leaving the bedroom.
We are nearing the end of “dry January” and thank Meryl for that. While many people have chosen this month to abstain from alcohol, I have prohibited myself from social media. While I do appreciate winter vacations in tropical destinations, I do not like scrolling through endless photos of them. Especially when I am cold, wet, and low. On New Year’s Day, I threw down my phone after nearly unfollowing everyone on Instagram. “If I see one more bitch on a beach,” I slurred, taking a swig from a bottle of prosecco, “I swear!”
Okay! Do you know a fact? I can tell you, in all honesty, that I did not go on a single date in the year 2022. Just so we are clear, I define a “date” as fulfilling the following criteria: taking place before 2am and including clothes, conversation, and an exchange of first names. That is why I made a goal this year to start dating; which represents a complete shift in direction for me. I have been practicing in the mirror, and instead of saying “don’t speak” to a gentleman caller, I am asking, “what interests you?”
Ever since I turned thirty, I have prided myself on being a solo Fox. I must admit, I have picked up a few deleterious habits along the way. For instance, if given the option between staying home with a bottle of red wine or meeting someone for healthy social contact, I struggle. And while inviting strange men over in the middle of the night can be, at times, pleasurable. There is also nothing wrong with taking the time to learn another man’s name.
On that note, last November, I nearly dodged a hook-up horror. Feeling lonely, vulnerable, and slightly intoxicated, I logged on to Grindr late one night seeking a temporary fix. After casting out my usual net of one thousand “oh hey’s!” I sat back and waited for a catch. After one hour passed, I was just about to pack it in when my phone lit up with a message: “How r u?” Fifteen minutes later and one pleasant back and forth, I was just about to send my location when everything changed.
“What you just wrote,” I typed, feeling somewhat confused, “that was not very nice.”
I can’t remember exactly what he messaged that rubbed me the wrong way; but all of a sudden, I was sitting up right on the couch and muting the television. What I was not prepared for was the deluge of vitriol that followed next. Within minutes he had fired off a slew of tormenting blue messages. In addition to the classic homophobic remarks, he insulted my weight and kept telling me over and over again, “I have your photos.” I was just about to block him when his tirade became less broad and more specific. This person knew me much better than I knew them.
“Do I know you?” I asked.
And then, just as fast as he attacked, he was gone.
Over the last decade, I have been fortunate that 99.9% of my encounters online have been positive. Apart from the occasional disappointment (on my part or theirs), I have met a number of kind, like-minded men, looking for a connection. The fact that, on this occasion, I was so close to sending this aggressor my address and unlocking the door, was a game changer.
“Navigating the present while getting side-swiped by the past, there are moments when I want to burst out of my shell, and days when I just want to hide.”
The next day at work, in a mild state of shock, I downplayed the entire experience. Telling the story to my co-workers, I concluded with a nervous laugh, “well, you know you must be getting famous when you start getting haters!” The following week, I logged back on to Grindr in defiance. I am not going to let one person take me down, I said to myself, determinedly typing “oh hey, oh hey oh hey.” Minutes later, I signed out, the fear getting the better of me. Shortly thereafter, I canceled my subscription and deleted the app altogether.
When I was in my teens, I always imagined my thirties would be much brighter than this. Taking into account recent world events, winter blues, and a broken foot, this time has not been without its challenges. If anything, these past few years, I have felt more like a teenager than ever. Rebellious, angry, and lost. Navigating the present while getting side-swiped by the past, there are moments when I want to burst out of my shell, and days when I just want to hide. I do not cast judgment on this experience as being “bad” or “wrong” per-say. I just anticipated being in a different place is all.
Wanting a change so bad I could taste it; I went on a date a couple of weeks ago. Sitting at a table in a crowded restaurant fully dressed for a 2pm reservation, I felt a good kind of nervous. Standing up when he arrived, I shook his hand and introduced myself. “It is nice to meet you…” On this first date, there were no $25 glasses of rosé, reality television cameras, or status updates. “I am out of practice,” I mentioned, after fumbling through basic dialogue. Taking a sip of water, I got back on track. “What interests you?” I asked, just like I had practised. “I am curious to know.”
