When a First Date Calls You Honey, Babe, Darling

He fingered the loose skin on my elbow bone when we were at the movies. Sitting there watching Star Wars with 3-D paper glasses.

When I initially started Summer of Men, my primary intention was to be freer with form and style. There are times I’ve gotten away from that. As an experiment I’m sharing an unedited journal entry. Less precious, less fussy. Just writing in its raw form.

Wednesday 1:08pm

“You are so my type,” he messaged. “Do you think we can meet up soon?”

Saed, a thirty-five-year-old, 6’1”, IT Engineer from Iran who lives in Granada Hills with his brother.

“You open to have a quick FT first?”

“Sure, I can talk after work at 4. Is there any way I can see more pictures of you. Just interested.”

I look through my photos on my phone. Not a one that I’d like to share.

“I’m so not a picture person but I look forward to connecting with you.”

“Okay,” he texted, sad heart emoji

Last summer in St. John's, New Foundland journaling in the garden

Later -

Cranberry gloss, mascara, checked the FT lighting, re-reading his profile to remember who is. There are so many.

Saed FaceTimed five minutes early. Sitting in his car in an underground lot in Woodland Hills. He’s holding the phone on a tilt. Burgundy leather and beige seats, sky roof. Looks like a nice car. He works for IBM.

I answer. He smiles. “You are so pretty.”

“Thank you,” I say.

He’s unshaven, brown eyes, black hair. Standard looking.

Silence.

“How was the day?”

“Busy, very busy at work.”

Silence.

So many silences.

I ask a couple mundane questions. He’s just smiling, staring at me.

“Ask me anything you want,” he says.

I think of the Russian, Guppi. Sitting in a red leather booth at Formosa.

“Ask me anything,” he had said. “What you want in life?”

I ask Saed a few more boring questions.

“Let me ask you. What are you looking for?”

“I like your directness,” I said.

“Of course.”

“Ultimately a lasting connection with someone. Someone to build a world with. But right now I’m also just trying to be opened minded. How about you?”

“Something longer than my last girlfriend.”

I didn’t think to ask how long that was until later. Actually, until now. Says something about my disinterest. I try to imagine kissing him. Thirty-five I remind myself trying harder to imagine his lips on mine, tongues entwined.

He’s still staring at me, smiling.

“You are just so pretty. Age doesn’t matter to me,” he said. “And you look forty, in your thirties.”

He seems older. Find many European men do. And age doesn’t seem as significant to them

This Saed seems ready to jump in.

“Would you like to go for a drive?” he texted the following morning.

I haven’t responded yet.

***

Later, Saed texts again.

“Or we can meet somewhere.”

As I write this, I sit on the couch, windows open, an ambulance goes by. I’m wearing my new red Amazon summer dress. 4:03pm. I have another FaceTime date. This time with Alexis, a 46-year-old designer with shoulder length curly hair, doesn’t drink.

“Hannah, you are the girl I have been waiting to hear from,” he had messaged on the Facebook dating app.

“That’s kind, thank you,” I write.

“It’s true. You are the best girl ever here.”

How many times has he said that? But he’s on it. Asking if I am up to meet for coffee today.

I propose a quick FaceTime first.

“I would love that,” he writes.

An hour later he hasn’t called.

Week later- Saed texts at 11:15am Friday.

“Hi honey how are you?”

Honey? Does a 6min FT date warrant a honey? I think of The Turk, how on date number 2 he held my hand. Date 3 he fingered the loose skin on my elbow bone when we were at the movies. Sitting there watching Star Wars with 3-D paper glasses.

Honey, babe, darling, holding hands, elbow fingering – all things that seem more something that come after time.

Back to Saed.

I texted back.

“Would like that. I have time Saturday or Sunday afternoon if either work for you.”

“Ok great. Where would you like to meet?”

I suggested Sycamore Kitchen, six blocks from me. It’s my dating go to coffee place. I’ve been on 11 dates there.

A fifteen-mile drive for Saed. The last date I had there drove 44 miles. There’s been so many. From 39-67 years old. Even a bald man with a belly who said he had dressed up in diapers for Hallowe’en. He was bored, I was bored. The date lasted 40 min. Move it along. I’d like to be able to move all my dates along. The last one I had was 90 min. Too long. As with every other date I sat there questioning could I kiss this guy or not. A very odd, shaped mouth. How to describe it? Was like a squiggle. A mouth a four-year-old would draw with a fat crayon. The next guy I went out with also had a strange mouth. For the whole date I watched as he pursed his lips as if he were about to kiss someone. Every other word he would purse them. He also had long curly hair. In his profile pictures he had a shaved head. In fact, I think the pictures on his profile weren’t him.

I ended up texting him, “It was nice connecting with you but I’m not feeling a romantic connection.”

He texted back, “Strange. Very strange.”

The squiggle mouth man didn’t respond when I texted him the same.

The ones I don’t expect to hear back from after I let them know I’m not interested have texted back, “Thanks for letting me know.”

Unpredictable. All of it. Like Saed, who I was predicting seeing this weekend. But it is now 3pm on Sunday and no Saed.

Which day and what time we were going to meet was vague to begin with. Only the place was chosen. I had texted Saturday morning.

“Good morning, which day shall we do?”

By 2pm and no word back I was happy. I didn’t have to push myself to see him. At 10:43pm he responded.

“Sorry darling for the delay. What about tomorrow?”

Darling? 10:43pm on a Saturday night? Taking twelve hours to respond?

Then at 11:29pm he sends an emoji heart kiss.

I haven’t replied.

New to Summer of Men? Read how it got started here:

Intro to Summer of Men