My second date assessment was that it felt comfortable hanging out with him, too comfortable. It was as though all the beginning date appeal had gone out the window and we were well into our third year of dating. That year being one in my early 20's. I longed for an actual date with actual date questions about family and travel. Who would have thunk?
This man-child was definitely not reading the same script. Would date two even be considered a date at this point? or would I be best-served to classify it as an encounter? Cue me trying to be amenable. Our next hangout (there was one) stemmed from an impromptu text asking what I was doing and did I want to come out. I, being an adult, was just finishing gardening all Sunday afternoon so I was indeed available. Great. He asked for my address and asked to pick me up. Not bad, I thought. I can be spontaneous. Pick-up time in 10 minutes. Be ready, he said. Oh and he's with his friend, if that's okay.
I can be happy-go-lucky! I'm not going to let him think that I'm assessing this situation in any other way. Once I got into the uber, I could tell that these gentlemen were rounding an extremely fun Sunday. Actually, I had to profusely apologize to the driver for their childlike behavior. BE FUN! We went to the same bar as the week before because clearly mayor status can only be obtained through consecutive visits. The guys danced like idiots which did amuse me and I vowed not to appear uptight in any way. I did refuse to take any shots because it was afterall, 7pm on a Sunday and ain't nobody got time for that.
His friend rightfully sent himself home and I was attempting conversation with the survivor. He ended up getting into an argument with me insinuating that my football bar was actually "his" bar and that my friend and founder of the football fan club was only friends with her friends because of him. Not only was that blatantly incorrect, but it was also infuriating as I couldn't have a coherent argument with this man. I discovered that I knew his long-term ex through said friend and he asked me to never ask my friend about him. Sure, that's reasonable. What would you expect any female to do armed with this sort of information? (For the record, I did not ask her about him till he was no longer a factor.) I left that Sunday proud of myself for being spontaneous and with little less than party boy expectations of the man-child.
Hey, he might be fun to have around. By this point, I was sure no romance was abound, but I did agree to go out with him again. I like to dig my own grave, ya see? This time he actually made a plan! Days in advance! I was kidded into thinking he'd make an adjustment. We went for pizza. I didn't wear heels. He wore torn jeans and an ill-fitting striped Abercrombie polo. Yep, exactly what you're picturing. I couldn't refrain from making a comment. He argued that because he wears a suit and tie every day, he should be able to do what he wants outside of work. My whole "appearances account for judgments" argument fell on deaf ears. I just shook my head.
And that was the end of the man-child. I did invite him to another funday in the coming weeks, but ignored him to enjoy the company of my far more mature friends. He showed up wearing another Abercrombie polo and sported sunglasses worn on the back of his head. Old habits die hard.
I learned that although my twenties were a most enjoyable time, my thirties dictated the need for a very different type of man.
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