9 Dates
This piece was written for and read aloud at Confessions: a series by Cassidy Grady, which can be seen every other week at Sovereign House in New York. Pieces are based on confessions anonymously written in a telephone booth at the theater.
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I went on nine dates last week. It was easier than you think. I only had to download one dating app and go out every night. Who would have thought that that’s all it would take? If I knew it would thrill me this much, I’d go on nine dates every week.
My criteria for suitors was simple- you had to have a job. This is a different criterion than I’m used to having because my old rule was that all you had to do was look at me. And because of my old rule, almost every date I went on was terrible. I had no idea what I was looking for. I thought I met someone, but we both changed our minds. So, after some thinking and pep talks to my reflection, I put myself back out there. And what better way to do that than by going as hard as I possibly could?
The first date was perfect. That’s why I went on eight dates after that. To see how they’d compare. The first date was so good, I’m still thinking about it eight dates later. He chose The Odeon and wanted to sit close to me almost immediately. It was supposed to be just Vespers, but it turned into French onion soup, sticky toffee pudding, and two more drinks. And a walk after that. His apartment had a view of the city I’d never considered. Isn’t it funny how different the city looks through the window of an apartment of someone who charms you?
The second date let me choose the restaurant, so I decided on Thai Diner. I was so busy thinking about the first date that I forgot I had plans that night—a movie with my brother. So, I had the second date around my schedule, which was 5-6:30 p.m. And if things went well, we’d meet for drinks after the movie. I enjoyed his company but couldn’t stop thinking about how he was 27 with one of the worst cases of early balding I had ever seen. He told me he was on a break with his girlfriend of three years, who he lives with and loves very much. As he talked about his life, I looked into his eyes and wondered what types of hats would look good on him.
The third date came to my apartment and cooked. He brought all the ingredients except avocado oil and tapioca starch because I already had those. It was sweet. He liked my apartment, which is expected because everybody does. Having a good apartment is the equivalent of having a Ph.D. by New York standards, and I’ve worked hard for it. The food wasn’t good, but he made a really big effort, which resulted in one kiss.
The fourth date canceled on me at the last minute, so I went on a second date with the third guy. I did not reschedule the fourth date because I don’t particularly appreciate re-scheduling. I should have charged him a cancellation fee. On the second date with the third guy, we went on a walk, and he came with me to get weed from a new dispensary that wanted to give me free weed for some reason. I smoked the strongest percentage of weed in a joint that I’d ever smoked, and he did not partake. I didn’t like that.
The fifth date chose a bar I used to go to that I had forgotten about. Otto’s Shrunken Head. They have tiki drinks, which makes for good conversation. He would not stop sweating; it was dripping all over the table. When I asked him about it, he responded with a nervous laugh and nothing else. He then bought a second drink, which was half off because he bought a ceramic pig that the bar sold to him for his first drink. It seemed like he was up to something. I kissed him because it felt like that added to his plot.
By the sixth date, I was over the previous four. I kept thinking about the first date, wondering what he was looking at. I hoped it was nice. One of my favorite pastimes has become thinking about someone and doing nothing about it. As the sixth date walked up to Lil Frankies, I noticed him from afar with two friends. I watched him talk to them, and he didn’t see me. He told them to pretend not to know him so they could watch the date and that he’d pay for their meal in exchange. When I walked into the restaurant, I greeted all three of them and asked his friends if they wanted to sit with us. They said no, and I told my date that he should pay for our meal, too, because of this incident. He agreed, and I ordered the chicken parmesan, sautéed garlic broccoli, grilled eggplant, spaghetti with extra ricotta, two glasses of red wine, and an ice cream sundae.
I finally told a friend about going on seven dates; he almost couldn’t believe it was real. I barely talk about my dating life with my close friends because I don’t want to jinx it, but after so many consecutive dates, it felt like I needed to see if anyone else in my life was doing the same thing. Very few people are going on one to two dates every day. Or any dates at all. Talking to my friend about my dates felt like a date. It made me think that I might have too much time on my hands.
I canceled on the seventh date because I was really over it.
The eighth date was my least favorite. We went to ramen. Tonchin. I specifically chose the restaurant because he told me to choose somewhere fancy. After all, the place he wanted to go to had no reservations. He asked me which friends would hate him and which would like him. I said I didn’t want to know the answer, which is why I think he made me split the bill.
The ninth date penciled me in and then left early. We got Zaab Zaab for lunch. He also told me that he was in an open relationship, and it was like re-living the second date.
Nine dates in one week. Nine strangers, seven dates, three kisses, two apartments, me. In the future, when I’ve worked my way up to thirty or forty dates in a week, nine dates will seem like peanuts. Let’s round it up to ten dates because I saved the first date’s number and marveled at his view more than once. I can’t wait to do it again. In a city like ours, no one should pass up the opportunity to touch as many lives as possible. At least I can say I’ve tried.