You Make a Grown Man Cry

This week, on WTCBA, we bring you the story of Dave* and invite you to listen to this Rolling Stones classic: 

Origin: OkCupid

Age: 31

Occupation: Animal care
Match Percent: 74

The story of Dave begins like a majority of OkCupid dates. A few back and forths about jobs, movies, weekends, how great alcohol is, etc. before moving onto the exchange of phone numbers and suggestion of a date.

What really distinguishes Dave from your average OkCupid date, however, was the moderately high chance that I may or may not have seen this guy on the train in February.

And possibly took a picture.

This picture.

A cute boy in the wild

He was cute. What can I say.

Anyway. It took a few runs through Dave's profile before I realized that he looked very, very similar to the man pictured above. Leading up to the date, I was placing it at a 90% chance that Serendipity had matched me with the hottie from the Red line.

Dave walked through the doors of Hopleaf and it was regretfully not the guy I had hardcore creeped on (although, he was still pretty cute). I was expecting a fantastic story to tell our grandchildren (“Nana creeped a picture of your Grandpa on the red line and got QuickMatched with him weeks later. #fate #truelove.”) Alas.

Onto some date analysis:

Conversation: Dave had memorized my profile. And not just my favorite movie or the "most private thing" about myself. No. Homie had memorized how I answered my match questions. He quoted my profile. I would say he was a Grade A Creeper, but this is coming from someone that took a picture of a cute guy on the red line, so I’m probably not allowed to judge much.

Notable quotes: "I've been smelling you all night." Was I wearing perfume? Sure. Did that make this statement less weird? HELL NO.

Financial analysis: Dave was late, so I paid for my first beer while I waited for him to show up. Once he got there and it was time for a second round, he made no motion or effort to pay for my drink. When it came to his own, he ordered the cheapest beer and tipped an aggregate sum of $1 for the four beers that he had.

Actual physical appearance v OkCupid: No smoke and mirrors on this guy. He looked like his profile, so there was no knee-jerk reaction. The 2-inch rule did apply, however. Ladies: always mentally subtract two inches from their given height. Always. And if the height is blank on their profile RUN AWAY. This means they are under 5 feet tall.

Despite having some strikes against him, Dave was overall a very nice, polite young man. He was easy enough to talk to and pretty easy on the eyes. When he offered to walk me home, I counter-offered with an invitation to play some MarioKart. (Because I know what boys like).

MarioKart never happened. As soon as we got to my place, Dave went straight to Make Out City and he was the mayor. I rolled with it, because kissing boys is one of my favorite hobbies and ranks just a hair higher than MarioKart (but not by much).

And then… perhaps 90 seconds later… it happened.

Homie burst into tears.

And I’m not talking one rogue tear. He was heaving. Sobbing. Ugly crying. There was snot.  

Why the waterworks, you ask? Blame the majesty of my right boob. His grabby little hands made impact with ole' righty, and the glory of the boob overcame him instantly. (Apparently the gentleman had never actually touched a boob he wasn't in a long-term relationship with before and he was very overwhelmed).

Needless to say, I very kindly and gently suggested that maybe it would be best if he went home and cried, which prompted a dramatic "SO YOU JUST NEVER WANT TO SEE ME AGAIN?"

Um. That is correct, sir. Now please leave. 






*Name redacted to protect Dave's fragile, fragile emotional state.