Over the past week-ish, I had been communicating with a man via an online dating app (Bumble). Unlike the men who usually express interest, he was tall; he was also a bit older than I, in good health and active, a reader, and educated. In the texts, he seemed both interesting and interested, which was good.
There were some misspellings in his missives that evidenced the use of dictating rather than writing, which surprised me since he was, allegedly, a journalist/writer (you’d think he’d have edited better). But, generally, the “talk” was much better than usual.
Oh, sure, he did write long texts and, sometimes, there were many of them, but maybe he was just excited, I told myself. And, yes, there were a couple of times where he’d say he was going to do something (like let me know when he got back into town) without actually doing that thing, but again I made excuses for this. We’re only human and I didn’t want to judge too harshly.
I was, relatively speaking, excited to meet this person. Dare I say, hopeful, even. So, yesterday, I was more particular about dressing and makeup and even shaved my legs1. I let my Fabulous Neighbor know where I was going and when, so she could look out for me, and in the late afternoon, headed out into the sunshine and breeze to walk to the restaurant. I was hopeful it would lead to my first “real” date2.
Instead, it was awful.
I arrived a bit early, intentionally, to give myself a bit of time to breathe and cool down from the walk. He was early, too. Okay, that’s fine, except I made a little joke about how his being early didn’t permit me to freshen up and make myself look better before meeting him–you know, a perfect set up for a “you look fine” kind of response. I got nada except a kind of defensive remark about why he was early, too. He even added that he had considered walking too which would have been much farther than my walk. Hmm.
Also, when we very first met, he just sort of looked at me when I introduced myself with a smile and a little joke about how he actually was tall (explaining that guys lie about that often) as I reached out for handshake. No smile back. No laughter. Decent handshake, though.
Early in the conversation, as we were waiting on our glasses of wine, he launched into the first of what would be many (many) very (very) long, detailed stories about his life, especially about his life in the Navy. Unbidden. Without context. No warm up questions like “How are you today?” Anyway, this story was about how he used his typing skills to get out of mess duty which led to his career as a journalist/photo-journalist. Yes, he started with the story of his adult life from, essentially, day 1. He went on to describe an editor he later had who two-finger typed and sounded like he was going to break the keyboard when he typed. I said that I had been told I typed “angry” by someone but I didn’t think that was true and that if I am a bit more forceful, I know it’s not as bad as the character from Up in the Air. Another attempt a light humor. His reply? “Maybe it’s how you hold your face.” Um, what? Okay, it was early on so maybe he misspoke. I laughed it off with “Resting bitch face typing? I dunno…” He didn’t correct me to say I didn’t have bitch face or anything. Hmmmm.
Long story short(er), he dominated the conversation and it was all about him. No compliments, no flirting, just him and his life. What little I got out about myself was talked over and/or over-topped. And his stories were, as I said, long, detailed, and mostly irrelevant. While he was liberal, LGBTQ+ friendly, loved books and old films, he also was harsh about his exes and completely inappropriate with how he talked about his adopted daughter (“Black crack baby3,” yikes)4. His work struggles and life struggles were all caused by others–wives, bosses, etc. He talked about how he played lawyer in a discrimination claim, as if that was a good thing to tell a real lawyer. I kept making excuses for him–telling myself he was probably nervous or something. I wanted to leave early but thought that maybe I was being unfair so I stayed to give him chance after chance. The reality was, though, he was just being himself: a man full of red flags, especially on the control side.
Finally, when I called an end to the meeting by asking for the check, he immediately said he’d pay because that’s what guys do and that just put the nail in the coffin. Feminist, my ass. I paid the check, in part because he had been so dismissive to the servers that I didn’t want them to get stiffed on the tip but mostly because fuck you patriarchy. It’s only money and, frankly, I hope it made him uncomfortable.
As I was paying he said how great he thought the conversation had been and I could see him winding up for the “let’s do this again” pitch. Before he could get there, as soon as the server left, I cut him off with, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is a good fit for me.”
“Why?!” he asked incredulously and harshly.
“You seem lovely,” I lied, “But I just don’t feel what I need to” (truth). Then I added as a sort of genteel excuse, “Maybe it’s the photographer thing–I’ve generally made it a policy not to date potential clients…”
“I never asked you for any advice!” he practically spat. His face had become really dark and almost menacing.
“I’m sorry” I said, “I need to feel a certain something. I’m fine being alone and I’m not looking for someone just to have someone. If I don’t feel whatever that thing is, it’s not right for me.” I then reached out to shake his hand again, did so, and left without the slightest look back.
As I was walking home, I got more and more upset about the whole thing. Mostly, I was upset with myself for not ending it sooner. I saw the red flags, but made excuses. Why did I do that?! Why didn’t I tell him the truth about why I would never see him again? Why do I feel somehow wrong for standing up for myself?
Eventually, it hit me…
Hello trauma, my old friend5.
I was unconsciously afraid to tell him the truth. I was afraid to hurt his feelings. Afraid of getting in trouble somehow. That was (in hindsight) my past relational trauma showing up. Also, I was playing the patriarchy’s game and was all concerned about making him comfortable, unthreatened. Bad (but familiar) combo. I was trying to be a good girl, uncomplicated, un-needy, and at the sime time protect myself from whatever danger he presented. Ooof.
On the good side, I saw all this about myself–I caught myself and did so early. I didn’t give him another date, or several. I saw the red flags! I didn’t ignore my intuition6! And I did what was right for me, if not right away, sooner than I would have in the past.
I recognized that didn’t owe him an explanation for my feelings and it wasn’t my job to fix the man, like by explaining all that he did wrong. I’m not his dating coach and I certainly didn’t owe him anything more than human respect.
Something, frankly, he didn’t quite show me.
So, yes, a bad date, for sure. But it turns out to have been beneficial for me: I learned I do spot the red flags and I can trust my intuition. I remember my last therapist said, “I don’t see you making the same choices now–I think you will see the flags and honor yourself.”
They7 were right.
___________________
- Not in case of nookie–because I was considering wearing a skirt. ↩︎
- This was a meet-date; I think of a real date as one after that, when there is some connection to explore. ↩︎
- He actually said he thought he had an understanding of what it was like to be Black because she is Black. OMFG. ↩︎
- He hardly mentioned his other daughter–not adopted, fwiw. ↩︎
- See my last post, about Mara. ↩︎
- Early on I recognized that I couldn’t imagine even kissing this guy–total ick feeling when I thought of it. ↩︎
- My last therapist was wonderful, brilliant, and non-binary, hence they. ↩︎