Sunday Kind of Love

Peter pan did not deter me from finding my soul mate on Bumble. So swiping I went. I matched with a fella who attended school in my hometown (points for being smart and not a jock) so we immediately had common ground. I was pleased when he asked for my number and a date without becoming a pen pal first.

He picked a day and even texted leading up to it so I was already surprised. When he suggested a trendy place for a drink at 6pm even, I knew I'd be home in bed by 9 and could count on my tried and true date out. Set the bar low, people. He arrived a few minutes early (as did I) and had just found a semi-cozy table perfect for conversation. After the introduction, he asked if I wanted to eat because he was planning on it. Typically, I would have said no, but that initial chemistry was there and I had never dined at the establishment. Food is the way to my heart.

We moved to the bar and found easy conversation with the bartender. The place had lots of seafood options in addition to meat and when my date suggested oysters, I basically fell in love. He picked appetizers (trying to be polite, I neglected to tell him I didn't eat cheese) and kindly served me portions. My feelings about this chivalry can be noted in my Canadian dates.

Because I lack both shame and game equally, I ordered a big hunk of meatloaf for my main. He got the ribeye. This was quickly escalating into a fancy date. He was a good sport about my athletic appetite which has never guided me into ordering a salad on a date to seem dainty. The food was fantastic, the conversation was easy. He talked about commuting for work which prompted me to ask about his profession; doctor. Somehow I missed that on the bumble profile??? So the man wasn't socially awkward, enjoyed shellfish and a fine meal, didn't judge my hearty appetite...oh and happened to be a doctor??

I think I can work with this. As much as the doctor appeal would hold dollar signs for many, I was more elated by the well-educated implications. We finished our wine and meal and he asked about my bedtime. It was nearing my bedtime, but the appeal of continuing an already pleasant first date was too great. I said it was close, but I could stay out. I'm already giving up sleep for this man?

We ventured to a nearby bar and savored beverages until the bar turned into a nightclub; it was getting late. He asked about my bedtime again (polite, not pressing) and offered up another locale. Dive bar on a school night provided the perfect backdrop for sustained conversation, and a jukebox meant I could judge his musical taste in an instant. We took turns choosing songs to impress (ok, maybe that only my perspective) and eagerly awaited the lone patrons' reactions to our picks. He had admirable taste, by the way. It was getting later. We agreed to call it a night and walked to catch a cab outside. Now some might think that we ended up having a sleepover but I assure you, he was a perfect gentleman. He hailed a cab and took it the wrong way to drop me off at my house, ending with a polite peck. At this point, our date had made it a record 7 hours and I passed out immediately. I received a text that he sent on his way home, "I wanted to tell you I had a great time tonight. Looking forward to seeing you again." Swoon.