11 \ This one goes to eleven.

November 2013
Except it didn’t. It was such a dud. The ‘coffee date’. That felt like a job interview.

‘Let’s meet for coffee’, she said. She was a Match date. We met late one weekday afternoon – I walked over from work. She seemed interesting from the photos – great style and an interest in art, design, and antiques. There were a few crazy yoga poses, but I let that slide. If you will. And I will.

I walked into the shop and looked around but didn’t see her. There was a woman at the bar but that wasn’t her. I ordered my coffee, moved to pay, and looked over at the woman at the bar again. This time we made eye contact. Bollocks, it was her. Not much like her photos. Maybe I didn’t recognize her out of ‘little thunderbolt’ pose or whatever. In any case, surprised I went over and said hello. An awkward hello. ‘Oh you didn’t recognize me.’ Well yeah, you don’t look like your pictures. Thanks for making that weird. We then proceeded to sit down.

And proceeded to go through a laborious ‘interview’ process. Questions and answers. Not super fun. Try as I might to be funny, silly, charming, it was all pretty serious stuff.

Coffee done, I motion that I need to get back to work. As does she. I walk her up the street until I need to cross. I hug her goodbye, ‘stay in touch’, and then we’re off.

No more coffee dates. Far too clinical. Fuck that.

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