Two

48, East Coast transplant

A. told me that she never went on dates without talking to the guy on the phone first, just to make sure he didn’t have Mickey Mouse voice. I thought about this when Two said hi. He didn’t have Mickey Mouse voice but there was absolutely a quality to it that made me wonder if I’d have said yes if we’d talked first.

Two was super complimentary and flirtatious online, while also being interesting to chat with. Intellectual without being stuffy. I recently learned the term “sapiosexual” and I was like, “Yeah, that’s totally a thing.” This guy said smart things and that, friend, is hot.

This perceived hotness made me nervous about going to meet him. If he delivered on the intangible stuff that makes you want make out in the parking lot, I was worried I’d, well, give in and ask him to go make out in the parking lot. I’m not in a hurry to make out in the parking lot, it’s probably not something I should rush into right now.

We did not make out in the parking lot.

He was nice, really nice. Easy to talk with, easy to hang out with. He was nerdy without being a total dork, he listened, he was observant, he asked good questions, all the stuff you want to have go well. On the down side, he dressed kind of like a skate punk, which would have been fine, but he’s short, so it wasn’t the right look; he looked too much like a kid in an oversized sweatshirt.

There’s a type of Jewish guy that I’d probably have had as a boyfriend if I’d ever lived in an East Coast Jewish community. Mrs. Maisel’s Joel. Ross from Friends. Harry in When Harry Met Sally. A nice Jewish boy, right? Two was a nice Jewish boy, forgive me that stereotype and all it implies.

“He likes you! He cooks! He has a good job! What more you should want at your age?!”

“I know, Bubbie, I know. But he didn’t light my menorah. Chop my liver. Lox my bagel. Braid my challah. Dayenu.”

He walked me to my car and told me he already thought I was the prettiest thing in the park, but when he saw my RGB dashboard saint and my Warren bumper sticker, that cemented it. He was legit sparkly around the eyes.

Maybe I should go on a second date and see if that browns my blintzes? Or do you know right away that a guy is (or is not) going to butter your babka?*

*I don’t think that’s a thing.