I almost didn’t go, if that says anything. Internet dating is a drag, and I was just tired of it. Also, who plans a date for a Sunday? When I say I almost didn’t go, I mean I REALLY almost didn’t go. When I got the “got a spot at the bar” text, I was still in a towel on my couch. So naturally, I said I was running late and about 15 minutes away. Knowing it was too late to cancel, I begrudgingly donned my standard First Date outfit, swiped on some mascara, sent a friend a screenshot of Vinny’s Hinge profile and told her where I’d be in case I went missing, and told myself I’d be home by 7 pm. Our first date was at Barcade (Vinny’s idea, and a great one, because if we had nothing to talk about at least there was something to do other than stare at each other awkwardly until an acceptable amount of time had passed to say, “Oh it’s getting late! Gotta get home!”). Vinny got an early look at my competitive side, and we played several rounds of Tetris before he determined that he would never be able to beat me. When we had exhausted all of the games at Barcade, cleaned up a plate of nachos, and closed the tab, it was well past 7 pm. So much for my plan to be home early because it was a Sunday. As we were leaving, I mentioned that one of my favorite ice cream shops was just around the corner (Weckerly’s), and asked if he’d ever been. He had not. Did I really just suggest a secondary location for a first date with a stranger I met on the internet? Yikes. Anyway, we enjoyed our ice cream and then Vinny offered to drive me home. Red flag. But against my better judgment (again, stranger I met on the internet), I let him. When I got in the car and music started playing, I learned that the only CD he had in his car was a copy of Taylor Swift’s reputation album. And the rest was history.

I was prompt—but not too prompt—to my first date with Mary. It was a Sunday and I really wanted to be home by 7 at the absolute latest. I waited at the bar at our first date spot, Barcade, and tried to distract myself from my nerves by scrolling… Facebook, probably. Every time I felt the crisp November air I gave what I hoped was a casual glance toward the door (probably more like an over-eager full swivel toward the door), only intending to make eye contact with the correct stranger. I remember seeing her scan the room when she arrived, and the panic I felt because I was only 65% sure it was her. I hadn’t seen a picture of her in all black with pink glasses? Where on earth did the pink glasses come from? Her photos all had tortoise glasses? Or no glasses? I guess she got new glasses? The pink glasses were so... cool. When our eyes met, though, I was sure. Well, it took until she asked, “are you Vinny?” before I was ACTUALLY sure. I had suggested Barcade so we’d have something to do if we didn’t hit it off. That wasn’t necessary, and honestly it led to an early glimpse at her competitive side (red flag). We polished off a plate of pulled pork nachos before heading to a new (to me) ice cream shop, Weckerly’s. The ice cream was delicious, even though we were the only ones there. (At this point it’s 8pm on a Sunday in November. Not exactly prime ice cream eating time. I would soon learn that in Mary's world, it's always ice cream time) After dropping her off I drove home blasting the very-2018 indie pop playlist I had bragged about making earlier in the evening, already planning our second date. It was also on a Sunday, and I took her to help me pick out new glasses.