Dating Boring Liars is not Great, but Telling them to Fuck Off - Politely - Sure Is

Dating Boring Liars is not Great, but Telling them to Fuck Off - Politely - Sure Is

So I have been out here in these streets for some time, and been on approximately eleventy zillion first dates, many of which went badly, but the shortest one I've ever been on was a total of 45 minutes. 

I am continually surprised that some of you sit there, dying inside, trough several drinks or -god forbid - dinner, with a person who, in person, you just are not feeling it with. You guys, you do know you can just leave, yes? 

As proof, I present the story of my 45 minute date, (which just edges out a ~50 minute date with a total asshat from Harvard Law, but plenty of time for that story another day). 

45 Minute Date Eggplant and I planned, at my suggestion, to meet at a bar I adored because I had just seen Casino Royale and I was very into Vesper Martinis. I enter the blessed cool of the bar to find 45MD eggplant standing behind an empty chair at the bar. Immediately I notice a couple things that concern me

1. Homey said he was 5’10. He ain’t no 5’10.
Sidebar: I generally regard 5'10 to be my bottom height limit, because, and I know it is shallow af, but I am not the most petite of ladies and i like to feel like a feminine fucking flower, mkay? 

This is concerning not because he is a shorty, (I mean, ok, it is, but also)  he has misrepresented himself as a tall-y and that's just a bullshit thing to do. However, I resolve to put my height-ism aside and give this man a chance, as personality will always trump physicality, but then: 

2. He seems rather befuddled and overwhelmed by the whole “bar” aspect of this environment.

And in fact, he immediately confesses he "tried" to get us seats, but the people kept  "blocking him out." I am like, uh oh. He then offers to get us drinks, but seems unsure of how to attract the attention of the tender and procure us said beverages. As this continues, my sense of dismay mounting, I am seconds from jumping in there to get us some drinks, because I'll be damned if I'ma stand here and be awkward without a fistful of social lubricant. However, just before I embarrass us both by takin care of bidness in a way he clearly can't, the bartender finds him and drinks are on their way. 

So ok, maybe 10 minutes have elapsed, we have beverages, we find a spot to stand and lurk while we trade stories. Turns out he has had an unusual type of life - he is currently in undergrad at the age of 26, because he had enlisted in the military, as had many men in his family. He decided it didn't suit him and he got out to go back to school. He had moved around quite a bit.

He could talk intelligently about none of this.

Where was his favorite place he had visited or lived? He didn't know, Florida, he guessed. What made him decide to go into the military? Seemed like something good to do, service and family tradition and all. Did he like it? Kindof. What made him decide to get out, then? It was too much work, eff that. 

JESUS Christ, what a thoroughly flavorless personality this man had.

I mean, it seemed like life just happened TO him. I silently sipped my (quite delicious, damn I miss that bar) drink, and said to myself, OK, this is not a match. I talked about me some I guess and we generally shot the shit until we located the bottoms of our glasses. Truly, I thought to myself, the end was in sight. 

As I lean over to slide my empty onto the corner of the service bar, 45MD eggplant asks me, blessedly, "Would you like another drink?" 

I shift my purse, which is still on my shoulder, as we've been standing this whole time, and respond, without missing a beat. 

"Actually, I think I'm gonna go. It was nice to meet you though." and turned on my heel and walked right the fuck out of there. 

I must say, the sense of superiority that comes with just ejecting out of a date that is destined to dead end took me by surprise.

Smugly I congratulated myself for not agreeing to muddle through another drink in service of "politeness" because I recognized that wasting both our time and money was actually the meaner thing. I experienced an exhilarating relief reflecting on how I simply peaced out, unrepentant at leaving him to cover the check (one drink at happy hour, I mean, no budgets were broken over this). And buoyed on this sense of incredulity at this dude, and pride at my audacity, I texted a friend as I stalked up the street. Upon hearing a much abridged version of these events, she demanded I present myself at her apartment for wine and sushi delivery. An entire bottle of which we drank. 

Quite a nice evening it turned out to be, in the end. 

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