November 2015. Christmas was in the air and I was still on the hunt for a man.
Swiping and reading profiles became an obsessive hobby of mine.
Again, here was a man I met on Match. He was Italian, clean cut, he looked like he was in good shape and he had a nice smile.
He called and messaged me. He was easy to talk to.
He was an entrepreneur who owned his own interior design company. He designed corporate offices/spaces, gyms, etc. I checked out his website and his portfolio was pretty impressive.
After speaking over the phone for about a week, we decided to meet up at The Port in Pickering. It’s a cozy spot with good food and a nice view.
As he approached me in the parking lot, I was nervous. He was cute and his smile seemed genuine.
There were a few things I noticed that weren’t necessarily red flags, but I took note.
His height. I was wearing heels and he was just my height. I guess if I wore flats, he’d be an inch taller?
His belt buckle. It was the shape of the bat signal from batman. He was extremely proud of it when I pointed it out.
His clothes. Super fucking tight.
He was in great shape, but my God, you could see every ripple through his shirt and his pants were painted on! He didn’t have an ounce of fat on his body and here I was wearing the baggiest of shirts because I was hiding my mini muffin top. I hadn’t been to the gym since I started this whole dating fiasco and my diet as of late consisted mostly of booze and fast food; sheer comfort.
Ironically, he did not come off as a douchebag whatsoever. I appreciate men who are well groomed and in good shape, but I found myself questioning whether or not I was physically attracted to him. There was too much muscle. He would bounce his pecs from time to time; it was like they were winking at me and that doesn’t impress me in the slightest.
We went through the typical first date motions. We ordered some red wine, perused the menu and started talking. He liked tattoos. He didn’t have any and he went on and on about mine. He showed me a picture of his mom who had recently gotten one. Cool, I guess.
He was 42. Never been married. No kids. He was close with his mother. He owned a condo downtown. His business was thriving. He loved to travel. He ate clean. He was ready to get married and have kids.
He had been single for about a year. He and his ex of seven years broke up because he was ready to settle down and she was not. They were still amicable.
Anyway, he came off as confident, kind and a genuinely happy person. I liked his energy. He had a good sense of humour and was chatty. I felt like we talked about everything!
As he talked about the gym he works out at (and designed) he gushed about this Asian kid in his twenties who worked out at his gym. He trained with this lad and thought he was so adorable and kind that he wanted to take him to his tailor and get him a custom-made suit.
This made me go hmmmmmm.
He then talked about how on a recent trip to Mexico with his buddies, there were some ladies who essentially wanted to party and hook up with them. He said he didn’t take any of them up on their offers. One woman lashed out at him for rejecting her, point blank asking him if he was gay. He laughed at her and said no, he just wasn’t interested in sleeping with her. Fair, right? But what was the point in telling me this fucking story?
I shook off those two tidbits and moved on.
Overall, it was a good night. He seemed nice and to have his shit together.
We ended the evening with a hug.
We continued talking throughout the week and I liked him. He was really nice, but there was no spark.
Maybe it was too early to feel a spark?
I then discovered he was a “cat” guy.
During one phone call, I had apparently caught him just before jumping in the shower. He was naked and walking around his condo with me on the phone. All of a sudden, he started talking in this playful “cutsie” voice. I asked who he was talking to, and he said it was his cat.
It wasn’t an appealing image. This short, muscular, nude man petting his fucking cat. No thank you.
One thing about him that got me a bit excited was When he told me that every Christmas his company threw a gala to raise money for sick kids, I melted a little. I thought that was awesome. He sent me pictures from the previous year and it was such a beautiful set up and solid turn out.
The next time we went out, he picked me up and we went out for dinner at Mill Street Brewery. We had a few beers and shared a bunch of appetizers and pizza. It was so good! He was a seriously nice guy and we were getting along great, but I wasn’t drawn to him. There was no fire, no sense of urgency to devour him. It was more like sitting with a platonic friend. Was it too early to dismiss this guy just because I didn’t want to even kiss him? This was only our second date and the fact that I was already trying to convince myself that it’s still early and he could grow on me should have been a red flag.
Nonetheless, we had a great evening. We made each other laugh and he was smart.
The only missing pieces, from what sounded like a satisfying and happy life, were a wife and kids.
He asked me if I wanted kids and marriage. I told him I was open to both ideas. That’s how I felt at the time. I was always on the fence about having kids. It’s never been a desire, but I wasn’t completely opposed. He asked me if I would be willing to live in the city. Yes, I would. He also asked me if I did have kids, would I quit my job? I said I wasn’t sure. I loved my job and couldn’t imagine being dependent on a man while I raised children.
Fuck, I didn’t know if I wanted kids!
My gut was already telling me that this wasn’t going grow into a relationship.
What the fuck did I really want? Here was this fit, well-to-do, has his shit together, nice, independent, philanthropic, attractive man; who is ready to get married and start a family; who would let his wife focus on raising children, sitting in front of me and I had no desire to be anything other than friends with him.
Maybe I just needed more time. My head was too full for a second date.
Anyway, we took our time eating dinner and walked around the Distillery District afterward. They were setting up for the Christmas Market, which was exciting.
He drove me home afterward. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and went into my house.
During this time, I continued chatting with other men. Why not keep shopping, right? There was one guy, the Roofer, who caught my attention. He and I started chatting here and there. We got our flirt on quite quickly. You’ll learn more on him in the next post…
So, the Interior Designer and I spoke regularly and he was definitely more interested in me than I was in him (fucking shocker).
He invited me to his upcoming gala, but I just wasn’t that into him. I mean his mom and good friends were going to be in attendance; so, I declined.
Again, what was the fucking deal? Since when would I turn down the opportunity to dress to the nines at a CHRISTMAS gala where the food and booze would flow all night?
Move on Poppy.
We made plans to go to the Distillery Christmas market. He left downtown, picked my ass up from Ajax and drove us back into the city. What a fucking sweetheart.
It was a beautiful night and I loved the market (not so much anymore. It’s way too fucking busy and you now have to pay a bullshit entrance fee). The air was crisp, but it wasn’t that cold out. I remember wearing tights, a skirt, sweater and leather jacket with over the knee boots. He wore his batman belt buckle with tight ass pants and button-down dress shirt.
We perused the vendors. They sell some fun stuff! But all I was interested in was mulled wine and food. I ended up scarfing down some poutine, a beaver tail and a pretzel. He ate the same stuff with me which was nice. Even though he was health conscious, he never projected that shit on me.
After doing a solid tour, we found a nice patio with a roaring fire and a bar without any lineups. I was in my happy place. It would have been almost perfect had I been interested in the man who was by my side.
We had a fabulous time nonetheless. I attribute a lot of that to the fact that the mulled wine and gin and sodas kept me feeling cozy. His company was nice too. We got along great! But there was obviously something lacking; I still had no desire to kiss him. I also found it odd that being three dates in, he didn’t even try to kiss me. The thoughts that ran through my mind were maybe he was nervous? Insecure? Gay? Generally speaking, the first kiss (and sometimes the first fuck) happen on the first or second date for me, so this was new territory.
We sat by the fire drinking and shooting the shit. It was romantic.
I didn’t want to move, but we both had to be functional at work the next day. I didn’t want the warm and cozy feeling to escape me.
He kindly drove me home without incident.
His respective and kind nature was very much appreciated, but that fire was missing and therefore, I was already bored.
I was still talking to the Roofer who was maintaining my interest. There was a level of excitement that I didn’t feel with the Interior Designer. I was done with him. It just didn’t feel like it was going anywhere.
We saw each other twice more after the Christmas market.
Our last dinner we had was at the Port. It was another lovely, engaging and affectionless evening.
Shortly after that last date, I met up with the Roofer and fucked him. I knew I didn’t have to be up front with the Interior Designer since we weren’t an exclusive, intimate couple, but he was such a nice and respectful man, I couldn’t help but be honest with him. I was far more interested in the Roofer so I also told him that I didn’t want to pursue anything further with him. We ended up thanking each other for the good times and positive vibes and haven’t spoken since.
Fast forward to September 2019. His profile landed in my “suggestions” list on IG. I checked him out and feel no desire for him, so my gut instinct was right from the get go. He wasn’t the man for me.
Lesson(s) Learned:
- Sometimes you need to learn lessons more than once. If you’ve been paying attention, I am that person. It takes several fucking times. Don’t beat yourself up about it.
- I’ve said it at least twice, and I will say it again, if you don’t feel the chemistry/fire/spark, move the fuck on. It doesn’t have to be a powerful, kick-in-the-ass revelation, but it’s something fantastic that someone should at least be able to stir inside of you, early on.
- Sexual/physical chemistry is just as important as mental chemistry. If you don’t want to devour your new partner in every way, then fuck it. That excitement, especially early on, is so much fun and keeps you curious.
- Even if a person is really nice, respectful, genuine, has their shit together etc. If he/she checks off everything on paper; but doesn’t set your shit on fire (see lesson #1 and 2), it does not mean that they are meant for you.
