Second Dates Are for Losers

She asked about my divorce.
I hesitated, tilted my head.
“Which one?” I said.
She hesitated, tilted hers.
“Oh,” she said. “Your profile said divorce, singular. I didn’t know it was plural.”
I exhaled for emphasis.
“Want to call it before the waiter gets here?”
She pursed her lips, rolled her eyes.
“No,” she said. “I’m hungry, and there won’t be a second date, so I’m good if you are.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Not so nervous now.”
I waved the waiter over.
We had some drinks, dinner, waved off dessert.
The lighting was soft but not too dark.
I liked her voice, comforting, not nasally.
The conversation flowed.
Her interests were not contrived, nor were they overly interesting.
I don’t care much about pickleball or golf.
“Well, I guess it’s time for me to go,” I said. “I don’t know what else to talk about.”
She nodded. “Are you irritated about my remark?”
“I’m not sure. What remark?” I said.
“About no second date.”
“Not at all. Like I said, it helped with my anxiety about tonight.”
“Oh good,” she said. “It’s fun to be upfront and honest and if that helped you, even better.”
I walked her to her car.
We shook hands, then she pulled me in for a hug.
“Oh, wow. Okay,” I said.
I started to walk away, then turned.
“I was married twice,” I said.
“Me too,” she said.
I shrugged, then asked, “Call you for a second date?”
A long silence.
Then, at the same time, we both laughed.

Think Mr. A 🫆