Last week, I met a guy at my local bar. He was attractive enough, but mostly smart and interesting. He liked opera and contemporary fiction. He didn’t like disposable Ikea furniture. We talked about deep cultural stuff for a while, and it was totally fun. He was with a friend, however, who was fucking annoying, so I soon left. Plus I was pretty drunk.

Halfway home, I decided to turn around and go back to give him my number. Why not? I did, and he quickly texted to give me his.

Over the next few days, we texted back and forth. I knew that he was a smart guy, but his texts made him look like an idiot. He used “u” instead of “you” and disregarded punctuation completely. I know that’s a silly thing for me to care about, but it drives me crazy. Just because it’s new technology doesn’t mean all rules of English go away!

Against all my instincts, I met up with him for a date anyway. It was fun, actually. But he looked older than I had noticed in the dim light of the bar. I mentioned a couple of times that I was 24. He never countered with his age, which was kind of weird. I knew he was older than me, but not by how much. Finally, at the end of the evening, I asked him how old he was. “43,” he said.

Ok, we all know I like older men, but twenty years? That’s just too much. I texted him later to say that I’d had fun, but I should probably stick to dating people closer to my own age.

Advertisements