I had high hopes for this one. We had talked for more than a week, I knew where he grew up, the places he’d lived, he even sent me a picture of his cute cat. The only photos I saw were him wearing sunglasses, a vague image that my imagination filled in with a gorgeous, unattainable man. But he seemed nice enough.
Maybe I’m superficial. Maybe someone better than me has an easier time finding love. But I couldn’t get past his stained teeth and balding head. I’m 26. He’s 28. I feel like I met the 40-year-old version of him, so what’s the point in seeing him again? The whole date I just kept imagining how I would avoid a kiss at the end or how to evade any next potential date. There were glimmers of hope where I thought we were having fun, but they were quickly shut down as I stared at the person in front of me. He knew it wasn’t right. I was just humoring him to avoid seeming impolite. When he said he had to go, I was almost too eager to leave. I think he sensed that.
Where is the balance between physical attraction and love? Does one always have to supersede the other? I wouldn’t say I’m the most critical about looks, but as my available market (including myself) gets older and less conventionally hot, these are questions I’m too afraid to admit that I’m thinking. There’s an interesting friction happening here.
Moovin & Groovin 