Perhaps because of my recent experience sitting in a restaurant by myself, I was more than a bit dubious about the quality of men on these dating apps.
But at this stage in my life, dating has become more of a way to amuse myself than an actual hope-filled venture into romance. And I'm okay with that.
I swiped right on Scott's Bumble profile for the sake of nostalgia. We'd attended Wheaton at the same time, although our paths never crossed.
I hold a certain fondness for Wheaton, although I find some aspects of it disturbing now. On one hand, I met some strong, incredible women there, and I got to transcribe Madeline L’Engle’s lectures while working in Special Collections at the library. On the other hand, this was a college that wouldn't allow dancing because it could cause people to "stumble" into wickedness. But for real tho.
So when I swiped right on Scott's profile, it was from my gut, while my brain yelled, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, he's probably one of those dudes who think women in bikinis at the beach are harlots or whatever!!"
When we matched and set up a brunch date, the closest I could get to explaining this impulse to Rosa and Charlotte was: "It's a common culture. You have to explain less about your own crazy background and shit when someone else has had similar experiences."
I decided recently that I need to stop talking politics on dates... I get all wound up, and to what avail? So maybe that was the reason my brain seized upon the ONE other topic you are also not supposed to talk about on dates: religion.
Yeah, I don't know what's wrong with me either.
Scott informed me that not only had he gone to Wheaton, but then he'd gone on to seminary.
WTF!?!
HAVE I NOT PERMANENTLY SWORN OFF ALL MEN WHO GRADUATED FROM SEMINARIES!?!?!? Four of them was my limit!!!!!
But I was already drinking a bloody mary by this time, so it was too late for me to bail. There was nothing for it but to talk about religion.
Turns out we not only went to the same Christian college but also to the same church here... before I was graciously invited to step down from the Welcome Team because I was experiencing doubts about the existence of God. After that, I quit going altogether.
At this point, I started crying. Yes, you read that right. I cannot talk about God, faith, or my apparent non-chosen status without bursting into tears, and what better place for that than a first date?
I don't think Scott knew what to do, and can you blame him? So I wiped my tears away. With my hand that had just touched the jalapeno from my drink.
Scott was in the middle of a story when I ran, screaming, to the powder room in back of the restaurant.
The more I scrubbed my eyes, the worse they burned...probably because I had not bothered to wash my hands with soap before I started dousing my face.
I glanced in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot, my nose was running from the heat, and now I had giant circles of mascara all around my sockets. I basically looked like this:
I like to keep things classy.
Resigned to the fact that I would probably never recover from this, I headed back to the table. It was hard to look my date in the eye after that, mostly because I was half-blind, but I tried.
Scott was very compassionate. To make me feel better, he told me about the time he touched a jalapeno at a restaurant and then forgot about it and went to use the men's room...which was a mistake.
That did the trick. I figured, no matter how dumb I look or feel, at least I don't have a flaming dick.
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