Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Just not that into him

So I went out with the Brooklyn Accountant tonight. Where to start?

I had suggested we go to the restaurant where I dated BFL and VYG. I know that if I don't enjoy the company, at least I'll enjoy the food, and it's also the closest kosher restaurant to my apartment.

When he picked me up this rainy evening, he said, "I think you mentioned a bagel place that's pretty close by."

Excuse me? First dinner date at a crowded bagel shop? I can understand going to the bagel shop for brunch, or just going for coffee at Starbucks, but if you're going out for dinner, you don't go to a crowded bagel shop. "It's about 10 blocks from here," I said. "Is that where you want to go?"

He reconsidered; maybe he noticed my stricken expression. "What about that other restaurant you mentioned?" he said. I told him it was a mere few blocks away, and off we headed, huddled under our umbrellas.

There is nothing really terrible I can say about the Brooklyn Accountant, and nothing really wonderful. He's 40 and lives at home, which isn't great, but that's partly because his parents are aging and getting frail. He was wearing a very stylish maroon ensemble -- matching tie, sweater, and pants -- that I appreciated. He didn't sit silent like a bump on a log; I was able to have a conversation with him on various topics, like vacations he's taken and our mutual love of internet shopping. He's not handsome, but he's not completely repulsive. His voice was nasal and his Brooklyn accent pronounced, but neither was jarring or grating.

Yet I was so not thrilled. So not engaged. So not interested. It wasn't one of those painful dates where you fantasize about chewing off your leg and escaping from the trap, but it wasn't especially fun or pleasant. I just didn't enjoy his company. He's a little too boring, a little too staid. After we ordered, I was counting the minutes until our food arrived; after we ate, I counted the minutes until he paid the check and we could leave.

There's nothing wrong with him, and nothing really right with him. Yes, he has a stable job. He loves his parents. He's apparently got a fashion sense. So why am I so not interested? Maybe he just looks old and unattractive compared to the Arabian Knight, who is 12 years younger than he is. (Although they're both losing their hair a little, a very common occupational hazard of being male and Jewish.)

He's also a little clueless.

"Do you go to the gym a lot, Ayelet?" Apparently he's not too observant either.

"I don't -- I walk a lot," I said.

"Did you ever go?" What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?

"I used to work out with a trainer, but she injured me pretty badly. Now I have bad knees. Walking will have to do." Stop talking about the gym!

"That's too bad. So, can you like do the cardio machines?" I guess persistence can be an admirable quality.

"No, that hurts my knees, and honestly, I really don't like going to the gym anymore," I told him. "It reminds me of how stupid I was to trust the trainer and how badly she hurt me. Do you go to the gym a lot?" Let's make this about you.

"Not really," he said blandly. Were you just making conversation, then? Couldn't you see I did not want to talk about the gym? Sigh.

The rain had stopped, so he walked me home in the cool evening air. "I had a really nice time tonight, Ayelet. Can I give you a call in a couple of days?" (I don't appreciate the "waiting several days before calling" thing; if you like me, call me the next day. This is in contrast to the Arabian Knight, who calls or IMs me several times a day -- which, let it be said, I am starting to find a bit excessive. It borders on Persian. Kind of reminds me that he doesn't have a real job yet.)

Reluctantly, I said yes. Because I feel guilty about pushing the boring Brooklyn Accountant toward the more expensive dining option, I've essentially agreed to go out with him again. Maybe we'll just go for coffee.
Copyright (c) 2007 "Ayelet Survivor"

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