Well PhilosopherPants and I went out on a date last night. I’m not sure what to think. As I had to work today, he was willing to drive out here (a huge plus, as many Bostonians don’t leave their precious hub for fear of dying out here in “the nature,” as a friend of mine puts it), and we met for dinner.
We had a good conversation; he’s easy to talk to, and he’s an interesting guy. He’s not my type, really, but since my type tends to be Class-A (for Asshole), I’m trying to branch out a bit. He paid for dinner, which however archaic that sounds it means that he thought of this as a date. We had a nice stroll through town, and I thought that maybe we’d stop and get a quick drink or coffee or something, but he kept walking toward our cars. When we got to the parking lot, he said he had a nice time and that he’d like to go out again, gave me a quick hug, and was off. Our date lasted one hour and fifteen minutes. No kissing. When I called my friend to tell her I was home, she said, “ALREADY?! Did you take him home with you or something?”
So I’ve had a date. I haven’t thought about him much, and I certainly don’t have a goofy grin on my face this morning. I suppose he could be a slow mover, and perhaps even a gentleman. If he calls, I’d probably go out with him again just to see what happens. If he doesn’t, it won’t bother me.