The bad news – A third date, a tad too late.
Almost two months after my second disastrous date with an Indian boy, I heard from him again. I thought it rude. One does not simply email someone for a third date two months later. It begs the question “what the fuck were you upto and why did you change your mind about me?” I told my mom I didn’t intend to see him and that he wasn’t right for me. Try that again. Mom and grandma were in la-la-land and felt the opposite. I received an email that tugged at all the strings that get tugged by emotional blackmail – it read blah blah some men are intimidated by you blah blah so what if he dresses poorly/isn’t good looking blah blah don’t get offended but blah blah you should see him again.
I gave in and scheduled a third date. I also decided I would give him a free pass on the abominable dress sense in the hope that it was a one-off laundry-crisis-related event. He picked a very nice restaurant so no complaints there. As usual, I was very nicely dressed (as anyone should be on a date, kids pay attention). He, again, was not. He had on a ratty-ass teeshirt made of some ratty-ass material. Polos should be made of cotton, goddamnit! But I said no, I would give the conversation a fair chance and ignore the clothing. Hey, at least it was dark.
The conversation was good. We talked a lot. About completely different topics. I realised we were about as compatible as chocolate ice cream and ketchup. We didn’t disagree on anything but we didn’t seem to have the same ideas on anything either. For instance, he celebrates his birthdays alone, went to work during the middle of the typhoon (without anyone asking him to!) and cancels vacations if it inconveniences someone else at work. He doesn’t travel because he can’t make plans in advance. He goes to bed at 9. He doesn’t do anything fun on the weekends. Correction, he doesn’t do anything. To me, he lacked passion, a zest for life. I don’t care if you play video games all day or collect star wars figurines or go sky diving, I want a guy that is passionate about something, who is playful and not just a work-home-work sort.
I was thoroughly disappointed. I even offered to split the bill because I couldn’t stand letting him pay when I knew fully well that I would never see him again. I sat through my lavish dinner thinking that if I married this guy, all I would get was a supplementary credit card and no one to share my life with. Thankfully, when I gave my mother the blow-by-blow account of the date, she agreed with my decision.
Moral of the story: Trust your gut. Not everything needs proof.