This #DatingDiary entry begins not like the others.
I met this ‘gentleman’ the old fashioned way.
No Tinder. No POF. No Coffee Meets Bagel. None of it.
This ‘gentleman’ approached me while I was out one day having lunch.
I was out having lunch one day, sitting at the bar in a restaurant when someone sat a couple stool down.
I glanced up, smiled politely and continued on with devouring my delicious food.
After a few minutes, he initiated conversation by asking what my favourite thing on the menu was.
Of course, I said the wine…because, well, obvs.
We shared a laugh, and continued chatting long after his own food arrived.
Finally, it was time for me to head back to work, and he asked for my number to continue our conversation later.
I obliged, and left the restaurant feeling on cloud nine.
He was sweet, funny, cute – had I struck gold?
Considering the bad luck I have had with online dating – perhaps the old fashioned way was the way to go?
He followed through and sent me a message later that day, and we chatted though texts all night – ending only because sleep was needed.
We made plans to meet up a couple of days later, and that was that.
Throughout our night of texting we talked about everything from our birthdays to favourite colours, our favourite foods to movie genres.
Pretty much anything you could think of, was discussed.
When he asked my birthday, and age – I didn’t hesitate and told the truth. He said he was a couple of years younger, 29.
Fast forward to our date night.
We agreed to meet at a bar in my neighbourhood, and I showed up right on time.
He, was 15 minutes late.
Once we sat down, I noticed that he looked an awful lot younger than I remembered…
As the waitress came to take our orders, I ordered a glass of Shiraz, he ordered a beer.
The waitress looked reluctant, and nervous – glancing back and forth between he and I.
I knew that look. I had been a server many years ago.
She quietly asked for his ID, not mine though. Of course.
He hesitated, and then it was his turn to look nervous.
I smiled politely and gave a reassuring look as if to say, “All good – don’t be embarrassed.”
He went on and on about how he must have forgotten it at home, tapping all his pockets looking for it…
Finally, he pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to the waitress.
She looked it over, looked at him, looked at me, and then thanked him and placed it on the table.
Quick like a cat – I glanced down and read his birthday.
March 11, 1996
1996…making him 19.
19 years old. Not 29, as he had said.
A whole 10 years younger than he had originally said, and 12 years younger than me.
He knew I saw it, and before I could say anything he started going on and on about how sorry he was for lying about his age.
Again, I smiled politely and didn’t say too much.
Our drinks arrived, and I took a nice, big sip.
Liquid courage, so they say.
I told him that it wasn’t very nice to lie about his age, especially so grossly.
We finished our drinks over awkward conversation, when the waitress asked if we wanted a second – I politely declined.
I told him he was a sweet guy, but that it just wouldn’t work out.
Not only because of how young he was, but also because it all started on a lie.
He looked crushed, but said he understood.