“I don't want to go.”
“I understand.”
I was on the phone with my emotional support friend Jill, who was trying to encourage me to meet someone new despite being aware of my last heartbreaking hookups. “You've been on a challenging streak lately, but you never know when it might change,” he said.
The idealist in me wanted to believe that Jill might be right, but the realist in me wasn't convinced. Despite delving into the world of dating apps in my early 50s with no expectations and vowing not to become attached to any specific outcome, I had grown tired of the process. But I was wearing heels and makeup and had blown my hair in an effort that seemed Herculean since COVID. It would have been a shame if it all went to waste.
I had an appointment at Hugo's in West Hollywood at 5:30 pm. I left late because I was procrastinating and then thanks to LA traffic, I got there at 5:45 pm.
When I finally arrived after texting him to inform him of my delay, I ran over, trying to compose myself. “Am so I'm sorry.”
“Hey, you did it.” He got up to give me a quick hug and then walked behind me while I tried to figure out what was going on. He pulled out my chair for me. I acted like this was an everyday occurrence. It definitely wasn't.
I quickly learned to be prepared for dates to look worse than their worst profile picture; He looked even better than in his best photo. The cynic in me was still on high alert for the red flags that inevitably appeared, but he was warm, with a calm demeanor, and very comfortable in his own skin. Turns out he was a sought-after golf instructor who luckily didn't care that I had never played.
“I like that you came up and ate one of my potatoes.” He was smiling and seemed genuinely pleased that I had done it. I hadn't even realized I had eaten one of their potatoes, much less without asking.
“I never do that. “I have to feel comfortable,” I said. Someone eating off my plate definitely bothered me in most situations, but this felt different. I'm pretty sure I would have given him all my potatoes if he had moved his fork in my direction. After he went to put money in the meter and came back, I was relieved. He later told me that he was relieved that it was still there when he returned.
“Am I talking too much?” I asked. Sometimes I did that when I had nervous energy. “You're welcome. I like learning about you,” he said.
He told me he had been in a marriage for almost 25 years and, other than some recent dates on Bumble, hadn't dated since 1989. When he said he had no idea what he was doing, I told him I had been dating. a lot recently and was doing better than 99.9% of men. I told him that I hadn't been in a relationship in almost 20 years and that I had prioritized my career for many years.
I was used to being questioned about whether I had ever been married, but he didn't seem to judge my decisions. I told him about some of the most egregious dating offenses I'd endured: the one who suggested we grab dinner and run and didn't seem like he was joking, the one who asked me for business contacts after I turned down a second date, the one who took me home my leftovers from the first date, him who contorted his body to kiss him while I, very intentionally, went to give him a hug. It could have continued well into the night.
He laughed and told me about his more run-of-the-mill dates, which he simply hadn't felt any romantic connection to. One had cats, which would have been problematic as he was very allergic. One could have been a hoarder.
It quickly became apparent that we shared a similar sense of humor and prioritized the same attributes, such as honesty, kindness, and a propensity to always try to do the right thing. I was also pleasantly surprised that he ordered an iced tea; He had stopped drinking alcohol a month earlier.
He told me he went on Bumble on a whim because it scared him, which I admired. It was endearing that she had stepped out of her comfort zone, especially after not having dated since she was 21. After talking for more than three hours, he walked me to my car.
He gave me a quick hug, opened my car door and said, “Talk to you soon,” and then quickly walked away after patting me on the shoulder. It was the best first date I've ever had, but the “Talk to you soon” really threw me off. Was this a failure?
Later, as I obsessively wondered if I would ever hear from him again, he texted me to make sure I got home safely. “I didn't tell you how good you looked tonight. I hope you can forgive me. “I am falling on my sword.” This might have seemed cheesy, and yet I melted, a testament to its authenticity.
The next day I had a horrible first coffee date that had been pre-scheduled. It lasted 40 minutes, about 37 minutes too long. When I got to my car, I discovered that Mr. Perfect First Date had texted me again. “I'm sure there's some stupid rule about texting you today, but I wanted you to know I had a great time last night,” he wrote.
“In that case, should I have waited at least five hours to respond to you?” I responded.
“Ha, yeah, and I shouldn't be sending you this response right now.”
“Should we accept that we don't have to follow any rules?” I asked.
I was so tired of all the complicated dating noise that seemed to persist even at my age, so I was relieved he wasn't playing around.
“Yes, please,” he responded.
“Perfect, we just solved all the world's problems.”
I didn't hear from him for a couple of hours and then: “The next challenge is for me to ask you out again. Later than I know.”
“Let me think about it,” I joked. I let about a minute pass. “Just kidding, yeah, that would be lovely.”
“Ugh, I was worried.”
We still don't follow any rules. And I still don't know anything about golf.
The author is new to writing after more than 20 years as a creative executive in the entertainment industry. Lives in Los Angeles with Mr. Perfect First Date. She is on Instagram: @jobethplatt
Los Angeles Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the Los Angeles area, and we want to hear your true story. We paid $400 for a published essay. Email [email protected]. You can find shipping guidelines. here. You can find previous columns. here.
