In the last year and a quarter I’ve gone out with approximately 25 women. The majority were one-time dates. A few were two-three-four more get-togethers; none were hook-ups, as the kids say, although I did get some kissing in. A few were friends of friends, but most were connections from Fastcupid, the online service of many portals (Nerve’s the most famous; I went in via the gooey-sounding actforlove.org). A surprising proportion of them turned out to be Wesleyan grads, which has led to much speculation with two other alumnae I know (an ex and my oldest friend’s wife).
About the whole disheartening experience, I have two comments:
1. Nobody wanted to say no. I guess it’s a matter of courage; anyway, it sure comes off as rudeness. Hell, e-mail makes it pretty easy: “I enjoyed meeting you but I don’t think there’s any chemistry between us. Thanks again and good luck.” That’s not copyrighted, folks. Amongst the Quarter, there were a few I was interested in exploring some more, even though they evidently weren’t. I say evidently, because they just couldn’t come out and say it. Only one of these responded, finally, to my second follow-up communication. (She responded with a variation of my sample sentence; thanks, Filmmaker). I know I’m dating-autistic, but I figure it’s stalking if I call or e-mail more than twice without a response. Just pull the plug, please. Silence isn’t golden, it’s gutless. Which just goes to show that I shouldn’t be associated with someone who can't pull the plug.
2. The Public Health Historian didn’t return the plastic container I brought her some apricot souffle in. Is that some kind of fetish? Or did she think it needed to be quarantined?
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