Evan is a 28-year-old estate developer. He says “I’m relaxed, open-minded, generous, determined and funny.” Evan likes “graphic tees and jeans” and describes himself as “clean-cut.” He says “On dates, I like to catch some comedy shows, go bowling, or just grab food somewhere. With my friends, we tend to be sloths at home, with or without pizza.” He adds “I love to be outside. I spend a lot of time in the sun.” Evan says “It’s been over a year since my last solid, long-term relationship. I’ve dated a few ladies since then, but some were manipulative, and others just weren’t a good match.”
I met Bimpe on a dating app. Apps don’t have the best reputation in terms of meeting someone to seriously date, but also, some ladies seem to have a strange understanding of what the word “date” actually means.
A lady gets a thousand more points with me if she walks over to me and says “Hi” instead of hiding behind a cellphone screen. In 2017 it should be easy to meet someone out in public by chance, but it appears that a large number of singles in the city show confidence online and shy away in person.
When I started chatting with Bimpe, there were a good number of things that got my attention. I liked that she runs her own business, like me. We had a lot of things and interests in common. Needless to say, she was also very attractive: tall; killer smile. I asked her out, and she said she couldn’t do anything that day because she had plans with her ex.
Major, instant red flag. I disengaged, writing her off.
I understand that many people are friends with their exes, which is great, but what I don’t understand is why someone would openly disclose that when setting up a first date. Baggage, baggage, baggage! I didn’t expect to hear from her again.
However, that night, Bimpe’s ex bailed on her, which prompted her to message me asking if I was still free to meet. I said yes, because why not, and asked what time would work well. She chose to respond by asking what my Instagram username was. The second red flag! I was so confused by that request, because I had already sent her oodles of pics, just like she had at the beginning of our conversation.
Why would she want to see photos from years ago? I have a strong backbone, and shot back a semi-sarcastic text asking if she was trying to use my Instagram as a way to decide if I was worth her time, and she actually said yes.
I was slightly stunned. Instagram is great, but after receiving more than 10 current pictures of someone and then agreeing to go out, it’s immature to ask to see someone’s account to decide if you’re going to show up.
I’m comfortable with my looks, and in fact would classify myself as a very good-looking guy, but I wasn’t about to be subjected to the Insecurity Court and let some random lady use old photos as a judge and jury.
Instead of giving her my username, I told her what time we would be meeting. I timed it closely to a game, so I could head over to my local bar if she bailed.
After I picked Bimpe up at her place, we walked for no longer then five minutes when she started to complain about walking. Already fully knowing that I didn’t want any part of this, I suggested that we change plans and go to a restaurant nearby where some of my friends work. Besides her physical attractiveness, there wasn’t anything encouraging me to suggest a second date at that point.
Right away, we started having a weird conversation at the restaurant over apps and drinks. There was also a distinct and strange lack of eye contact. It got worse when Bimpe decided to tell me a really personal story — way too personal for a first date. I found his topic choice bizarre and started a mini drinking game with myself where I took a drink every time she alluded to how much money she makes, or how cool she is. Talking is something that comes easily to me, in every situation but this one. It all felt so unnatural and uncomfortable.
I told her that it was getting late, even though it wasn’t even eight, and that we should call it a night. I grabbed the bill and started walking her home. Back to the apps, I guess.