Here we are again then.
It goes without saying that I haven’t heard back from the previous guy, and I’m not particularly devastated about this.
Gotta tell you, I’m not feeling too confident about this one, either. I can’t discern from his photos whether he’s attractive or not. There’s a lot of sympathetic (i.e. non-existent) lighting and “Oh, look, here I am in the distance!” posing in his pictures.
Within his profile blurb, he seems at pains to point out that he’s quite wealthy so maybe he’s trying to compensate. I don’t even know why I’m going on the date. I am secretly hoping that his photos will just be poor quality, and that in actual real life he will be devastatingly handsome.
He chooses the venue. When I walk in, bang on time, it is empty save for two males sitting at the bar. They are not together.
I think one of them may be the guy but I can’t tell, given that his photos were about as revealing as a child’s drawing on an Etch-A-Sketch.
I stand at the bar and order a drink, taking out my phone to text the date and tell him I am here. The men at the end of the bar don’t look up as I text so I assume he’s not one of them.
Incoming reply: ‘Me too!”
Yes, great. But where? I text again to say I’m standing at the bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man at the very end of the bar move. I do not look in his direction.
He’s coming over.
He pulls up a stool next to me – the screech of it against the floor cutting right through me – and says my name.
I turn. Oh. Oh. I see.