We met on OkCupid. 89% Match. 3% Enemy. I went through all of your answered questions with a fine tooth comb. Where’s the 3% coming from? All our answers matched the other. We chatted briefly before exchanging numbers. I start to text you then realize I already have.
How could this be? We only just met. Kind of.. I quickly read through our previous text messages scanning for clues. Have we actually met? Did we fuck? Do I even like you? Oh god. I hesitantly ask where we talked before.
We didn’t though. Yet.
You invited me to dinner… 8:00PM. Sisters. Brooklyn. I have to leave the city. I’m already annoyed with this. At 7:30PM you text me to ask if we can meet on Wednesday, because… well, because.
I leave things there. Let it simmer for a bit. Let you hang. Think about what you did. We don’t text for a few days. You ask if I’m over it. I say, “I’m over this back and forth sun and snow bullshit.” You hurriedly ask me to drinks. That night. Now. You want me badly.
I oblige. Making the trek out to Brooklyn. That mysterious land of hipsters, flourless-gluten free-vegan bakeries, and Anne Hathaway. I meet you outside the restaurant. You’re more handsome than I expected. Lucky me?
We grab a table in the back. I think to myself, “Nice choice of restaurant,” only I find out later it was just a matter of extreme convenience on your part. Your apartment was literally upstairs. You order a Jack and Coke. I order an IPA. We settle into each other for just a moment.
Ex-boyfriends. Ex-fiances. Dogs. Camping. San Francisco. Art. Mexico. HIV. The Wizard of Oz. Shoes. Work. Photography. Sales. Work. Food. Just a few of the things that punctuated our conversation. You kept looking at your phone, which I, of course, thought was rude. I grabbed it and saw that you were texting ‘Greg OkC.’
I understand being single and wanting to explore your options. I do. However to be on a date with me and texting Greg OkC is not something I will tolerate.