Fastest bad date in the South

Matt found me on Match.com. Matt is an empty-nest divorcé just shy of a decade older than me. His photos are cute and his messages were complimentary of my profile photos, and intrigued with my subscription to the New Yorker magazine and our common interests.

When we discussed meeting up, he attempted asking me for an evening drink the day of. Twice. Both times I had other plans. When I offered other days, he said that he would get back to me. His third time was a charm, I was available. He picked the place. I picked the time.

As I rushed from the gym to shower and change, I did not have time to cure the post-workout hunger. The trendy semi-new Cedar Springs restaurant was so close; it would have been a crime for this bicycle enthusiast to take four wheels. So I headed out on two wheels and an empty stomach

A triple-digit-temperature day resulted in me immediately seeking out a cool towel to dab my face after the short ride. Passing through the very crowded restaurant toward the ladies room, I saw no Matt. Once inside I saw he text that he arrived. I text back to ask where I could find him. Outside.

We shook hands. He looked as if he put no effort into his attire. I knew he put no effort into getting there because of the phone conversation when he told me where he lived. A block away.

Matt remarked how crowded it was. I offered that we could stand inside as we have our drink. He asked if we could sit outside. I said that I just rode my bike and found the weather too hot to enjoy the patio. I mentioned that I wanted to order some food, too. He looked as if he’d been snookered, “I thought we agreed to meet for drinks?”

I replied, “You are welcome to have a drink, but I need to eat.”

I explained how work was busier than I expected and that gave me a late start at the gym. Though I had intentions of eating at home, my priority was to meet him on time.

He offered going somewhere else several times, and each time I said ‘sure’ – I was game for any place Matt chose.

He asked again about outside for just a drink. I conceded. Matt asked, “Are you sure?” I smirked, “Well, I told you what I would like. You don’t seem to want to do that, so I can have a drink with you for an hour then do my own thing.”

“Listen,” he replied, “I’m getting a bad feel from the start.” I felt as if the skies opened and the angel of dating salvation touched my shoulder to say, “Now you may leave.” I did. “Yeah. Me, too. Thanks anyway.” I made a bee line for the Bianchi.

Matt called out, “Hey, don’t take it personally.”

I didn’t. How could I? It has always been about Matt. He is just searching for his perfect doormat.