Dating After Dark


Daily PresentAfter midnight you can’t hope for the most meaningful conversations with a woman. Or with lampposts for that matter.

Traipsing around Lincoln Park after a show at Lincoln Hall, my posse and I wandered into a sports bar that appeared to be crowded. Upon further investigation, the bar was populated by undergrads extending their night after a formal.

I like to envision my dating life as a nature documentary.

Observe the single white female…sitting alone. Abandoned by her flock. She stares off into space, then laps mouthfuls of beer.

She was lounging in the bar is if it were her living room, her boots resting on an empty chair, when we entered the establishment that smelled of popcorn. I walked across the sticky, popcorn-littered floor and asked what she was watching.

“Top 10,” she replied.

Bonus. She speaks and comprehends English! Check.

“Any particular team we are looking for?”

“Oh, my team will never be shown.”

“Which school is that?”

“Miami of Ohio.”

I was surprised to see a Red Hawk in the wild without her pearls.

My friends wanted to go to a different bar with potentially better options and I was forced to make a decision–an opportunity I don’t relish. Stay chatting with this girl or abruptly leave in hopes of finding someone better. I took another look at Sara (no ‘H’) then back at my friends. I told them I’d meet up with them in a bit and continued my conversation. After all, a red hawk in hand is worth two in the other bar.

She continued by sharing that she is an accountant, doesn’t have cable, this was the first year she was going to do her taxes by herself and that she likes to ride her bike. Yes, dear readers, I am that good of a conversationalist.

She slightly slurred her way through reciprocating the questions I asked her. As part of my new effort to better qualify the women I date, I decided to get my deal breakers out of the way on the initial conversation.

“Do you like to dance?”

“Yeah. It’s OK.” she responded.

That’ll pass. Not my ideal answer, but not morally opposed to it like Rev. Shaw Moore.

“Are you a vegetarian?”

“YES! How did you know?!” she exclaimed as she perked up from her previous lounge position.

Her excitement was countered by my saying, “I don’t think this is going to work out.”

“What?”

“Do you like to cook?

“Not really. You dirty so many things, then have to clean them. Do you like to cook?”

“I love to cook. I’ve dated a few vegetarians before, both liked ladies…at some point. It didn’t work out. You don’t happen to be lesbian?”

“No, I’m not a lesbian.”

Her friends emerged from the darkness and said they were going to The Hangee Uppe. She asked if I wanted to join, then went to get her other friend.

After waiting for a few minutes, the hunter again was faced with a decision. He returned to his steed. Alone. And hungry for meat.

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