The Case For Being Yourself From The Very First Minute Of A Date
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Dating in your 30s is a profoundly weird experience. In fact, it blows.
See, when you’re younger, certain guys and gals just gravitate toward each other. Friends often hang out in enormous groups. And as time moves on, certain pairings splinter off from the herd, they wind up making out at a party, and then, boom, they’re officially dating. Facebook official. Fast forward a few years, both sides of that inevitable wedding party are made up of longtime friends. It’s sitcom material, really. But it’s also the natural order of things. Many of my best mates’ wives were at one point simply platonic friends who were once part of our larger gang, drinking buddies long before they were mortgage co-signees.
Make no mistake about it: that’s the way to go. It really, truly is.
Sorry, my fellow ageing and single brothers-in-arms, them’s the facts. In those instances, things happen with little to no actual concerted effort. That younger guy isn’t trying to consciously woo that initially platonic friend. He’s not trying to impress her. He’s not putting on airs. He’s just simply being himself, which, in all likelihood, was probably often a crass horse’s arse in his 20s, slamming shots and farting in public. And that worked! That was enough!
Of course, those hypothetical former buddies started actually dating, the dynamic inevitably changed a bit. But while friends were transitioning into something more, that initial crush was based on who those people truly were.
But if you’re like me, a bachelor being dragged into his mid 30s kicking and screaming, things are different. The game done changed, folks! I was recently out on a date, and an unfortunate fact hit me, like a punch in my dumb, bearded, single face.
I wasn’t on a date with this girl. I was on a date with her date representative. And she was on one with mine.
Allow me to explain. Single people can be, and excuse me if I’m using the term incorrectly here, f**king liars. And by single people, I’m including myself. Granted, these aren’t massive lies. I’m not telling a girl that I’m a CIA agent or that I was instrumental in finding Bin Laden; however, during small talk the other night I found myself being slightly less than truthful. And it wasn’t premeditated whatsoever. I just found myself blurting out half-truths. I forget the specifics, but let me explain it like this:
My date’s question: What is your favourite movie?
My answer: The Shawshank Redemption.
My ACTUAL favourite movie: Saved by the Bell: Hawaiian Style
My date’s question: Who’s your favourite author?
My answer: F. Scott Fitzgerald. I love The Great Gatsby.
My ACTUAL favourite author: Whatever d**khead wrote Saved by the Bell: Hawaiian Style.
Okay, that’s not actually how it went, but you get the point. When you’re talking to someone new that you’re sexually attracted to, but who’s also, for all intents and purposes, a stranger, you’re likely to tone down your own immaturity, charming stupidity or bizarre quirks. That’s natural, normal even. I guess the general plan would be that if you date this person consistently, slowly but surely you can roll out all of your quirks, stagger your strange. And I get that. But, at the same time, I also wholeheartedly disagree with it.