I’ve got some friends who are dating right now.  Just so you know, the definition of dating is a bit different in 2013 than it was in 2003; my dating friends are on the OK Cupid, they routinely meet complete strangers in restaurants, they do a lot of text-flirting. Sometimes there are several individuals being dated at once, and I when my friends talk to me about the dates, sometimes I have to be like, “Sorry, which one is Doug? Is he the Philosopher or Sweet-but-Bald?”

For the record, I think online dating is awesome.  I mean, I’ve never actually done it, so, whatever-shut-up-Jesslyn.  But I love my friends’ online dating stories: the one guy who talked the whole night about his Body Mass Index (“I actually have the ideal BMI–you, on the other hand, might be slightly underweight.”), the guy who brought my friend a stuffed koala bear to their first meeting, the guy who kept saying, “I really feel like playing Monopoly for some reason. You know, I have it at my house….”

But then, those dates make better stories than actual dates.

I’ve only ever been on two dates in my life, and they were both…notable.  The first was with a very tan, blonde South African bush pilot who was in Georgia for the Olympics in 1996.  He came into the restaurant I worked at every night for a week and hypnotized me with his British accent and ruddy cheeks, so I went out with him.  In the middle of the date he asked me how old I was and I told him 18 and he literally choked on his food.  He then claimed to be 32, but I could tell he was lying. The next week he flew back to Africa with the Lithuanian women’s speed-walking team.

The other date I went on was with this guy I ended up liking a lot and who ended up unceremoniously dumping me two months later. The approach was pretty old school: he knew I was friends with the girlfriend of somebody in his fraternity, so he got my phone number and cold called me, spending about 5 minutes explaining who he was, even though I had been prepared for this eventuality by no fewer than four frat girlfriends.  Anyway, on the date we ended up walking around on different golf courses in Memphis, Tennessee, and on one golf course we were just strolling along, talking and he turned around and peed on a magnolia tree, saying, “sorry–I get kind of maniacal when I have to pee.”

See? Dates are hilarious. I hope never to go on another one.  However, I hope my friends go on a whole bunch more.


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