I had a date recently with a guy who had loads of potential. He seemed very thoughtful, intellectual, loving and friendly. Most importantly he had the look of a kid facing a pile of presents, or alternatively, a starved lion viewing a tasty antelope. Either way, that’s all I saw. He was very excited to meet, and understandably a little nervous. The first date we had wasn’t particularly well planned as he asked me when I was at work and I had no plans that evening (I’m told a lot of guys like spontaneity, so I figured I’d oblige).
The first date was fun, we had coffee at Waves. I loved it there and it was air conditioned. It was like a little Vancouver gem just one month into Calgarian exposure and I’d never been to that one before. The date ended with a walk where I spilled the beans on what I want. That’s one thing about me that I know for sure, all of the guys I’ve been with have always known what I’ve wanted. I’ve always made it very clear. He gave me the smiling eyes and we parted ways.
In spite of the alright first date, and my appreciation for his respective awesomeness, I knew it wasn’t right. The second date rolled around and we decided to have dinner. I’m a naturally talkative person as anyone that knows me will loudly attest to. I can go on tangents (often witnessed on this blog by my few appreciating followers) where I can wind up extending certain points that may or may not apply to the overall idea (did I just do that?). We exchanged less than 30 words each, and I think I was responsible for about 17. It was the most uncomfortable dinner I’ve had since I was a kid. You know, holidays and stuff.
We parted ways after he waited with me for my train and I thanked him for the dates. I wish him the best. 🙂