Wendy is 34, currently unemployed. She says “I don’t think I have a particular style. I dress to show off my body; I don’t like to commit to a particular style or look.” She adds “My hair is very long and people say I have a beautiful smile.” Wendy loves “dancing, nightclubs, parties, movies, shopping, festivals — almost anything where I can show off my outfits.” She says “I’m vibrant, interesting and a bit of a clown. I’ve been called a “loot bag” because you never know what you’re going to get with me.”
Dayo and I met on one of the more serious dating sites. I’m not in a rush to get married, but I would like to find someone of the same ethnicity, who I haven’t known since we were in diapers. I kind of dated someone for five months recently, but that was mainly because I was newly unemployed and had nothing better to do. I kind of think I’m terrible at dating. Mostly, I want to meet someone with a hot ass, who loves to dance and socialize.
After sending some messages back and forth, Dayo expressed his interest in going out with me. We talked and discovered some things we had in common. He seemed cool on the phone. He was also educated and had a good job. I was impressed that he was willing to commit to meeting me right away.
We met for dinner at a local restaurant, nothing overly special, just a place that was central. It was odd to me how aloof he seemed right away. I knew instantly that there wouldn’t be any romance. He was cold, not friendly like I’d expected.
We talked about our families, hobbies, religion, all the normal things I guess. I found myself giving short answers and not volunteering any information beyond the bare minimum. It was kind of businesslike, which was fine with me. I fell in love once; it didn’t work out.
Dayo told me that it’s important to him to get married soon. He added that he hoped not to encounter any fertility issues when he did get married. I thought that was a very odd thing for anyone to say on a first date, but I moved on.
Midway through dinner, Dayo asked me what sports I play. I told him I dance, and that I used to run a lot. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, and said “Well, that explains it.” I asked what he meant, and he told me, I looked too thin. I should add that while I am on the slim side, I’m definitely not too thin. It was clearly intended as something of an insult, especially right after what he had said about fertility: he didn’t think I had enough body fat to have a baby. I sat in shock. While I don’t care what any man thinks of me, the tone of this comment made me feel like a failure as a human being for not appearing more fertile.
At that point, he asked me what I thought of him: his body, his skin, his hair. He asked me if I thought his hairline looked good. Again, not something most people would bring up on a date — especially a first date.
The already-strained night went on and on. It was as if I was eating and drinking on autopilot. I’m a slow eater, and Dayo seemed to be impatient waiting for me to finish. He told me to order dessert and then to hurry up and eat it. The tension just skyrocketed after that. I tried to make polite small talk, just to get through it. He had something else to do after our dinner, and wanted to leave. I basically shoved the food in after that.
The whole date only took an hour. He paid the bill and seemed to run out of there, hardly waiting for me to pick up my purse. We left with him walking in front of me — he didn’t even stop to see if I was following. We didn’t say goodbye, he just said “My car is this way.” Neither of us mentioned seeing each other again. At least I’m glad that we didn’t lie to each other.