Boring Australian went on a strange tangent involving anarchy and South African apartheid as I sipped on my mezcal Negroni, making me realize there was no part of me that wanted to be on this date. It wasn’t just the incomprehensible white graphic on his plain black tee shirt. Being someone’s first date after a significant relationship is a heavy cross to bear. Boring and I had matched months earlier, before I had stopped seeing other people. I forced myself to do my eyeliner and get out there, hoping I would remember how to talk to someone who wasn’t the last guy.

I was ten minutes late, which is unlike me. That’s how much I was dreading it. Despite my reluctance, I have to admit I looked good, so I took a few commemorative selfies as if to mark a moment of silence. I was going to look this good to sit across another man.

Sure, there was nothing wrong with Boring. He had a decent job and seemed baseline stable, but that’s when you know you’re not into the guy– when you’re telling yourself he has a decent job. He was a writer who had been working in advertising for the better part of his career.

“Oh, that’s cool. I love advertising.”

“Not to brag, but I have seen all of Mad Men.”

He stared at me– unaware of my joke. I bit my tongue and........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)