There is a certain breed of man that absolutely adores smart, sassy women (this breed can often be found saying, “I love Jewish girls.”). Once I recognize one of these men, I know that I will have him eating out of the palm of my hand by the end of our date. Like, literally, he’ll just be lapping up Rice Krispies with his tongue. Straight from my hand. It’s sexy every time.

I went out with one of these men on Sunday. I got to the bar first, and he came in, and said hi, and I flashed him a smile, and he was mine. Bam. That easy.

We talked for a while. He was perfectly nice and likable, but something wasn’t right. At first, I thought that it was just too easy. But then I realized – I wasn’t sure if this guy actually liked me, or if I was just fitting into this trope or caricature of a woman he couldn’t resist. Smart, judgmental, with attitude. I found myself playing a role, playing up that trope, and he was just eating it up.

We hung out for three hours. It wasn’t awful. It wasn’t even boring. But it wasn’t electric. It was just me chatting away about whatever I wanted, saying silly or snarky things, and him adoring it. I eventually gave him my old “walking the dog” line, and told him I had to go to the grocery store, and bought beer and went over to my friends’ apartment.

He texted me immediately to tell me what a great time he had had.

“We hung out for three hours!” he said. “Not a bad sign.”

I responded:

“Don’t worry. I know I charmed the fuck out of you.”

I planned on going out with him again. After all, the ego boost was nice, plus he really did seem like a good, decent dude who was into me. I try to give second chances/second dates, because – hey, if he seems decent, maybe he needs one more date to prove himself as right?

The next day, I was sitting in bed feeling sad and lonely and like I had no dating prospects. And then I realized – if I feel like I have no prospects, and there’s a guy texting me, I’m probably just not into him.

I texted him the next day to tell him I just didn’t feel the chemistry. Told him he was a good guy, though, and I liked him personally.

“I like you too,” he said. “You’re pretty great.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Really, always nice to hear.”

“Yeah well, also kinda want to make out with you,” was his reply.

“Thanks,” I said, “but it’s not gonna happen.”

So, I can charm the pants off of the right kind of guy, but that doesn’t mean he’s actually right for me. One more date for the history books.

 

 

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