Jay is a 29-year-old graduate student and athlete who lives in the Danforth area. He describes himself as “competitive and hardworking,” but also a bit of a party boy. He says, “If there is a line for leaving too many shirt buttons undone, I blow past it every time.” Jay cares a lot about athletics, and loves going to concerts and dancing. He has been single for two years.
I saw Cindy on an online-dating site and sent her a message. I was attracted to her profile picture because she had gorgeous red hair, and I have never dated a redhead. She wrote about backpacking in Europe, and from her profile I got the impression she was a fun girl, if a little “unique.”
One sunny Saturday morning, I had nothing going on, so I called Cindy and suggested we meet up. She suggested that we go to the Global Marijuana March, which was a no-go for me—Olympic trials were just a few weeks away, and I didn’t want to be around marijuana smoke. She then proposed going to a comic-book convention, but since I am not into comic books at all, I nixed that idea too. Instead, I suggested we go for a walk in Trinity Bellwoods because it was close to where she lived, and it was a beautiful day.
When I met Cindy at her apartment, she opened the door wearing booty shorts and a bra. I looked inside her tiny apartment—it was dark, there were clothes all over the floor, and it smelled weird. I told her I would just wait in the hallway. She did have beautiful red hair, but if someone had put a salt-and-pepper wig on her, she could have passed for being in her 40s, even though she was only 25. Her face looked as if she had done way too much partying.
Cindy had no filter. She approached people’s dogs on the street, petting them without permission, and even let a couple of dogs lick all over her face. We walked by a swingers’ club and Cindy said that she would like to check it out. I think my friends would have gotten a kick out of her, but I could not imagine ever bringing her as a date any place where the slightest bit of social discretion would be required— never mind introducing her to my parents.
She wanted to get beers, but I suggested coffee instead so I could make a quick exit after. We walked into a small bakery on Queen Street, where the cashier greeted us by telling us that we smelled nice. Cindy responded by saying that she had “just queefed.” The cashier went into full deer-in-headlights mode, nearly tripping over himself as he backed away, stammering. I just looked at Cindy, wide-eyed. She gave me a little nudge, as if to confirm I was in on the joke with her.
I drank my coffee in two sips, then told Cindy I had to go for a run. She went in for a hug, and my reflexes were too slow to squirm out of it. I walked in a daze to the nearest streetcar stop. Fifteen minutes later, when I was safely away from her, I burst out laughing. I texted my friends to meet up for a debriefing session over beers.
Jay rates his date (out of 10): 1
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