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A tee shirt just a wee bit too small for you and skateboard shoes at 30, not so much. A square of concrete you get to by walking through a storage closet does not qualify as a patio.

We met on the back patio of a neighborhood pub, a wide open space certain to prevent other patrons from overhearing any obvious first date conversation. If a woman weighing 120 pounds cannot take her seat without her unimpressively sized bottom knocking over the red wine of the woman sitting one table over, your restaurant does not have outdoor seating, it has a petri dish.

He could have saved himself the physical and mental exertion required to send a text message and simply let me wonder, but he didn’t. I suppose there’s something to be said for efficiency.

But I wonder, how much “connecting” can happen on a first date? How much am I expected to impress a person in an an hour and a half time span that will convince him I’m worth speaking to again? You have 90 minutes to convince me you’re amazing: Go! Common sense tells us love at first sight is a myth.

I mentally begged the pushcart wielding, screaming beer aficionados that tended to congregate on my corner for a moment’s peace. Society condemns single women for being “too picky” but one false statement or action on a date with a guy who is clearly hunting for a long term mate and you’re kicked off the island. Gentleman number three is a short story, and for once not because he lied about his height.