The date with the hot guy went fine until it was time to kiss him. We both leaned in and locked our lips, but during those brief five seconds, I felt no sparks, no chemistry. I felt emptiness and I thought about all the laundry I had yet to do and all the financial aid I had to apply for.
The truth is: the hot guy lost all his charm as soon as I got to know him. He kept saying, "I am having a good time, are you?" I kept nodding and saying, "Yeah, this is nice", while discretely checking my phone for time underneath our table at the restaurant.
Then he goes, "Since we're seeing a movie after this, do you mind splitting the dinner cost? I only brought fifty bucks with me." Really? You don't say. Actually, I do. I fucking mind, because what was the point of reiterating to me throughout the week on the phone how you like to treat girls when you go on dates and how you always makes sure a girl never ever has to pay for her dinner. Of course, that is not why I went out with you, but after all that talking, seeing you scramble for money in your wallet is kind of pathetic.
After a movie, on our way to the car, he tried to hold my hand and THEN, he tried to make a big deal out of me not wanting to hold it. At that point, I really didn't care any more if I was making a good impression on him or not, so I basically said, "I am not sure I want to date you yet. And I really don't want to hold hands right now. Sorry."
After a less than stellar date, I was pretty surprised and a little creeped out, when he called me the next morning... at 8:45AM. I angrily turned the ringer off and went back to sleep. When I woke up two hours later, I saw another missed call from him. Holy crap, this guy is a stalker.
The yucky date with the hot guy made me reevaluate my situation with the PDA guy. I was pretty excited for our date later on that afternoon, because I decided that this will be the date that makes or breaks his potential of being more than my make-out buddy.
As we walked through a gallery after a gallery of a modern art museum, looking at beautiful abstract art works by various artists, he held my hand as we discussed paintings and installations. My heart... began to melt. He was so much more refreshing, more genuine, more interesting than the Hot Guy. I could actually talk to this guy and reference Warhol and Liebskind and not be afraid that my words would be met with a blank stare. Who was I kidding? I could never have such a conversation with the Hot Guy. Not in a million years.
My newly-found feelings for the PDA Guy were farther secured later on that night when he offered to make me dinner at his place. Never have I tasted pork chops and string beans basked in zesty sauce that were as good as the ones he made for me.
"So are we... dating now?" he asked me that night as we cozied up in front of a TV, and....
Hmm, I don't know. I mean, okay, I said yes. But he wasn't exactly asking me to be his girlfriend. In fact, weren't we already dating? And if so, why would he ask me if we were dating?
I asked the Ex what he thought about the matter and he blatantly replied with," What kind of a dumb question is that? Of course, you are dating. You went on six dates - that's called dating."
So, here we are. PDA Guy and I... I and PDA Guy... we're dating. Whatever the hell that means.