Another coffee date, another Starbucks. I like to choose a different Starbucks location each time I'm meeting someone new, so that the baristas don't remember me and begin some kind of office pool as to when my date will go off the rails. Almost immediately is becoming a safe bet, for those adverse to risk.
This particular date wasn't off to a great start either. For one, Cam* lied about his height. Not enough for me to label him as "wee," but enough to make me regret my choice of shoes very deeply, and therefore regret not being at home in stretchy pants watching "Cops."
I also noticed Cam was very hipster. Uber hipster perhaps. Hipster in a way that meant I got to compare how his skinny jeans fit him so much better than my skinny jeans. I've always felt, and I still do, that men and women on a date should not be wearing the same cut of denim, especially when the dude is pulling it off and the woman...not so much.
He had the pointy calf leather loafers. The black pea coat. The metal studded glittering belt. The retro, ironic T-shirt. The funky black toque with a brim serving no purpose at all. The hoop earrings in both ears. The obscure symbol necklace. Sweet Lord.
I didn't get any more excited when he walked in, saw me sitting at the table, held up a finger in the universal symbol of, "one moment," and proceeded to the counter to order a $7 macchiatto.
I was waiting to order until he arrived, and not because I was expecting him to pay for me. It seemed the polite thing to do at the time, but I was afraid to say anything to him from the table for fear he would give me the universal symbol for "hush," and I'd be forced to strangle him with his studded belt.
Finally we both had an over-priced beverage. Cam suggests we take a drive to the water because he couldn't "handle the Starbucks culture." It's hard to argue a statement with no context or meaning, so off to the water we went. And things improved.
Cam was funny. He was smart. He had gorgeous blue eyes and stupidly long eyelashes. He was a little bit off-beat and quirky and I had no idea what he'd say next. He was an artist - painting and photography. We sat looking at the water, went for a walk...things were going surprisingly well.
His trendy little pea coat wasn't very warm and I felt weird just sitting in the car so I suggested we find some place warm to carry on the conversation. That some place turned out to be his apartment, which wasn't exactly what I was thinking but that's hard to argue when we're suddenly in the parking lot of his apartment building.
He had the typical starving artist apartment...artsy. Still laughing and talking, we settled on the couch and decided we should watch some TV together.
Things were going well enough I began to imagine how it would be introducing him to my friends. I know this is a weird thing to do, but I figure it's less weird than immediately picturing our wedding so I let myself daydream.
"Everybody - this is Cam. Cam's an artist. He made me that painting I have on the wall of my living room. Yes, the one with the skulls. All of his paintings have skulls - he's very deep."
"So what did you think of Cam? I know - he's cute isn't he? What do you mean is he gay?? Of course he's not gay...well I know he looks like he could be but I think it's just the belt...no I'm sure of it...he's not...don't even try hitting on him to prove it. Bitch."
Overall...I was not horribly disappointed with how the evening was going. I was even less disappointed when I noticed Cam was doing all kinds of cute covert-but-not-really guy maneuvers to get closer to me on the couch. This pleased me.
I was even more pleased when he kissed me, and I think this is where the train and the rails parted company. It had been so long since I'd had a guy kiss me on a date that I actually wanted to kiss that I must have stopped paying attention. And I really should have paid attention.
After less than two minutes of kissing, I opened my eyes, glanced downward and was forced to ask the following profound, and relationship-altering question:
"Um...Why are you naked?"
I don't know how it happened. You'd think I would have heard the jangling of the glittery belt coming apart, the unzipping of the fly, and I don't know about him but my skinny jeans take some effort to get down off my hips -- but I wasn't paying attention.
(I also blame Chef Gordon Ramsey. A Hell's Kitchen repeat was playing on TV and Chef was yelling at everybody, as he does, and I think this might have muffled anything important going on. Like my date suddenly being naked.)
In case you were skimming this post - Cam was naked. Penis. Full-frontally nuded. Penis. Waving at me. Penis.
Now what is the etiquette in this situation? Somebody has made a serious dating faux-pas, and yet it seemed impolite to point this out. And so I asked politely why he was naked instead.
Just as politely, Cam answered that he thought things were going in a certain direction. Considering the improbability of my fantasy involving having a guy to drag out to outings with my friends who wasn't under some sort of contractual obligation, I couldn't begrudge Cam's fantasy that two minutes of kissing might make a girl want to see him naked.
For the record, the kissing wasn't that amazing either. It was OK given the novelty factor, but it wasn't THAT kind of kiss. The kind of kiss where you lose feeling in your legs and that's OK because who needs legs when you have lips and oh my god but did my panties just dissolve? Yeah. It wasn't that kind of kiss.
There is no easy way to tell a guy that the direction he was sensing is wrong. He was going south, I was heading north. In different cities. During different years. And so he put it away.
We cuddled awkwardly. He had plans for later that evening so neither of us seemed saddened the evening had come to an end. He drove me back to Starbucks, and we said good-bye.
Surprisingly...no kiss.
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