It's official: I'm cursed. No seriously, hear me out on this. I have never successfully managed to have anything past a third date in the TWO YEARS that I've lived down here. And yes, I am PAINFULLY aware of how pathetic that sounds.
Let's recap what I thought would be a successful contender. AMAZING first date. Like totally knocked it out of the park. Great date spot, great conversation, we played financial trivia, I mean, come on. Done. This kid was golden. He did give me a brief peck then hightail it to the parking garage, but hey, small potatoes, chalk it up to first date nerves. Second date was also good minus the fact he picked this "fusion" mexican restaurant that does not serve queso. I'm sorry, you aren't mexican anything if you don't have cheese dip. Although, I thought perhaps there was a silver lining, as it's hard to be sexy while systematically shoveling cheese and chips into your mouth. But it does have great ambience as a date spot, so no big deal. Until he failed to capitalize on said ambience and again, quick kiss before he departed. He got the quizzical eyebrows at this one, but hey, it's the south. Maybe he's being a gentleman. But then here is where things fall apart - date three...
Date three is not so much a date as a quick meet up after the SEC and Big 10 championship games. Finally had a real kiss, but he was pretty schnockered. (Sidenote: the fact schnockered is not recognized by spell check is a huge disappointment.) Back to what matters - this counts as half a date. Trust me. So after getting a next day apology text, I am nonplussed and surge on, giving him 3 days as options for our next official date - aka date 3 - Friday, Saturday, or Monday. Great, yes, Friday or Saturday, he's excited. Well sir, that's great but "Friday or Saturday" is not an actual answer. It's like answering a true/false question with yes. It means nothing. Aggravating. So I text again on Thursday to find out the actual selected day. Friday, he's looking forward to it. Insert raised skeptical eyebrow face as come Friday afternoon I still haven't heard from him. Friday night I get home from work and again text him to see if we are still on. He answers an hour later asking to postpone. I'm hangry having waited to eat for this date, but given his stellar performances thus far, I'll allow it. Buuuttt then he makes no move to reschedule. So I again reach out and set up our rescheduled date. And again, I don't hear from him until mid-morning on date day. And date 3 is where I face the ultimate shame: my milkshake does not bring all the boys to the yard.
We had a quick dinner and went to Cookout for milkshakes. Don't you even make a face at this blog while reading that, Cookout has the best milkshakes I've ever had. We did drive-thru since the area is a bit sketch and since we are near his place I'm thinking maybe he'll pull the smooth move of offering to go back to his place to eat our milkshakes, hang out, etc. No. No, instead he drove me home. And dropped me off outside my building with A FULL MILKSHAKE. Which I ate. On my couch. Alone.
Oh wait, my humiliation knows no bounds. Not only because the Sabrina cat just shamed me in a gif, but because after it was painfully clear I was getting dropped off, I tried to set up another date. This is legitimately one of my lowest points. Since it wasn't a bad date, just a little lackluster in retrospect, I asked to see him again before I leave for Christmas. We agreed on a day, I got out with my milkshake and that was that. Come tonight, the day of said date and I NEVER HEARD FROM HIM. Since I was in charge of setting up the last three attempted dates, it shouldn't be beyond him to take the initiative to reach out and set up activities, dinner, drinks, holiday lights, movies, the proverbial netflix and chill, anything.
He was like a candle whose flame burned too bright. It couldn't last.