Just Say No

After my friend's shocked/appalled/aghast/bewildered reaction to the intense level of inactivity in my dating life, I vowed to liven it it up a little bit. Two nights later, a tall Australian entered the scene. He had flown into NY that Thursday for his 'best mate's' birthday party and was leaving on Saturday morning for a business trip. His one free night was Friday and he would love to take me to dinner.

I ran through my mental checklist:
6'2" or above: Check.
Sense of humor: Check. (Though dangerously close to the cheesy side, not so close as to dismiss immediately.)
Broad-shouldered, athletic and attractive: Check, Check, and Check.
Easy conversationalist: Check.
Good job/income: Check/Check.

Looks like I was saying yes.

My initial concerns: he appeared to be older than I am generally comfortable with dating (I prefer 28ish, he seemed more 35ish,)and I was also worried about the cheese factor, due to a couple fleeting moments in conversation and also his shirt, which I was not particularly fond of.

Early afternoon on Friday he calls to say he has made 8pm dinner reservations and perhaps we can meet at 7p and walk along the westside a bit first. I say fine. Around 4p, he texts to confirm 7p at his apartment in SoHo. I respond that this should be fine as I am currently frolicking around the West Village with friends. He replies back that I can come around 6:30 instead if I would like. I choose to ignore this text. An hour before dinner, to talk about lord knows what, should suffice, thank you. And I'm not sure what it was about "frolicking around the West Village with friends" that led him to believe I would want to meet up earlier. Regardless.

I arrive in SoHo around 7:15, too late to allow for his planned hour 1/2 long pre-dinner stroll. Really though? Let's not jump ahead of ourselves, okay, Turbo? Thanks.

We walk through SoHo and over to the Flatiron district to dinner at Pure Food & Wine. The walk was actually quite lovely and entertaining, and dinner proceeded to be fun and delicious. I found myself remembering why I like dating. Fun, flirting, White Light Tinis... I really should do this more often.

As he paid the check, I reached for my blackberry, suddenly realizing how late it had become. Dinner had taken over three hours, and it was currently pushing midnite. So much for going home to change before meeting up with my friends. Alas, I assumed we would say goodnight and I would hop into a cab in front of the restaurant.

This is where things began to unravel.

I'm trying to politely peaceout; Aussie has turned his game on, angling to get laid. This is not an excellent combination. He wants to walk. Curbside, of course, as his grandmother instructed him to do when walking with a lady. (Uhhuh. Yup.) Ok, fine, I can saunter through the park with him and get a cab on the other side. I BBM my friends telling them my ETA is 30 minutes. 30 minutes later, duderino is still ignoring every semi-polite attempt of mine to end the date. I'm really trying not to be rude and abrupt, but he has suddenly turned from entertaining and charming to annoying and cheesy. (I KNEW IT WAS IN THERE.)

As our walk takes us mysteriously close to his apartment(I will spare you the cheese-ball extravaganza that occurred on that trek,) I am rescued by back to back phone calls from my besties (Hi! Yes! I'm coming right now, I swear! Sorry! Literally getting in a cab right now!!)

"Are you sure you have to go?"

Is he serious?

"Yep! Oh! There's a cab! HadagreattimethankyoufordinnerBYE!"

His reply?

"Oh man, you're totally running. I wish you wanted to stay and chase the passion with me."

Yup. Uhhuh.

CHASE THE PASSION.

Except he did not say it in capital letters. It rolled off his tongue, nonchalantly, as though that is something that he has said before. Often.

"Yeah, ok, I'm going to chase that cab."

This is why I don't date. Now, where's my cat?