So I went out with this guy.
And he seemed nice enough, even though he asked me if I’d ever been to a swingers’ party in the first 20 minutes of our date.
He kissed me goodnight and asked if we could go out again.
And I said, “Sure, sounds good.”
“What would you like to do?” he asked.
“Go wine tasting,” I suggested.
“Great idea!” he said.
The only problem is that all the wineries I know about are off highways that have mud slides, fallen trees, and road closures – I pointed out.
We could wine taste at my house. . . he suggested.
I mean, NO. THANK. YOU.
I’m 43 years old.
I know what it means when a man invites you to his house.
He’s looking for some nookie.
And it’s not that I object to that, I just object to that when there’s no effort to get to know me.
At least make a pretense of looking for a “friend” with benefits.
Otherwise it starts to smell like No Strings Attached and I’m not looking for that.
Maybe I’m confused (I probably am) but it seems like the timetable to get in my pants has been sped up to nuclear speeds.
And I can’t help but feel like the men who are successful are the ones who text me during the day just to see how things are going, even when we don’t have a “playdate” planned rather than the ones who go at me at warp speed.
So what’s happening with this guy?
He’s taking me to a wine bar.
Because who knows, maybe he likes me AND wants in my pants too.
But I’m not holding my breath.