hi hi hi
i went on my fair share of dates when i was in college. i’m not currently dating — and boy, am i happy about it! — but i do sometimes miss that tentative push-and-pull conversation of a first date. so in this post i write about three memorable first dates i’ve been on.
please remember that i’ve exaggerated different aspects of each story for dramatic effect, so they’re best read as fiction rather than fact.
don’t date irresponsibly, y’all!
krys
1.
I’m wearing lipstick, and I kinda hate it. My Tinder profile specifically mentioned that I’m not the dressing-up kind (a fact that was no doubt corroborated by the pictures I uploaded — embarrassing). But here I am, wearing lipstick, and feeling pretty gross about it.
I also just got a haircut. Like literally just now. There’s bits of cut-off hair sticking to the inside of my jumper like a graveyard of fallen soldiers. It wasn’t even a proper haircut at a salon. A friend came over, spread a few sheets of newspaper on the ground, took a pair of scissors from the kitchen and lopped off a bunch of my curls. It was consensual, yes, but at what cost? If my intention on this first date was to come across as aloof and uncaring, I am failing miserably at it. Surprise surprise.
The third item on the list of reasons why this is already a terrible first date: He’s late.
I’m trying to psych myself up. It isn’t working. The restaurant is packed and I’m sitting here on my own, sipping on tepid water, trying not to check my phone so I won’t come across as a typical seventeen-year-old who can’t get off her phone, even though that’s kind of what I am.
Anyway, he shows up fifteen minutes later, brimming with apologies. “How long have you been waiting?” “About an hour,” I say, trying for a joke. He looks horrified.
He’s also wearing a plain white collared t-shirt with tiny blue flowers printed on it. Cute.
I order a sandwich while he tries to weed my entire life story out of me. It’s a little uncomfortable. What if I don’t want him to know where I grew up? (Brunei.) And how many languages I know? (Three.) But I guess this is what constitutes for polite conversation. We already have a couple of inside jokes from the few days we spent texting on the app. And he’s a senior from my college, so we spend twenty minutes banally discussing all the people we have in common.
He tries to impress me with the blue tick next to his name on Twitter. Reluctantly, I am impressed.
He’s also kind of funny, in a typically self-deprecating manner. If I’m being honest, the thing I find most attractive about him is that he’s twenty-one. That’s insane. I’ve always wanted to be twenty-one. We have so much in common.
Anyway, we’re there for about an hour, and then he catches a rickshaw and leaves. It was OK, I guess. We date for ten months.
2.
There is no way this is a date. Right?
We skipped the sports fete at college to watch a movie. In my defense, he made a really good argument. It went something like this: “Do you want to skip the sports fete at college to watch a movie?” “Yeah.”
So we went back to his apartment and watched Can You Ever Forgive Me? (2018, dir. Marielle Heller). This was not the first film we watched together. When he’d gone home for the weekend, we’d watched A Star Is Born (2018, dir. Bradley Cooper) at approximately the same time. Before that, the two of us and another friend watched Dazed and Confused (1993, dir. Richard Linklater) all together on his laptop computer. And, most memorably, about a month ago we’d watched Shirkers (2018, dir. Sandi Tan); he in his apartment, and me in mine. Not even on the same day, but it still felt like something we did together.
Movies were his thing, so they were slowly becoming mine. Because? We were friends, kind of. Even though we had nothing in common. And everyone was really confused about our friendship. I was confused about our friendship, but I learnt pretty early in life not to question good things.
The friendship had been growing on-and-off for a couple of months now. We worked on a few projects together, and then he and his roommates kind of adopted me. We’d have jalebis and chai in the evening, and write our assignments together. And then, terrifyingly, he made me download Snapchat. In 2018. That should have been the first sign.
Anyway, a week of daily texting on Snapchat led to this: us skipping the college fete to watch Melissa McCarthy pretend to be a shitty person. Then we each logged the movie on our respective Letterboxd profiles. I gave it four stars; he gave it three. We had to walk back to college to sign attendance. Then we walked to Sambhar for brunch. He sat next to me in the booth, instead of across.
But this couldn’t be a date. Right?
I’d never actually dated a friend before. I was much used to meeting guys on apps with the express intention of dating them. Historically, crushes on friends amounted to nothing. Less than nothing, since the friendship usually deteriorated once I was honest about my feelings. But this seemed to be different. Was this going to be an exception?
I was too scared to hope, so I didn’t. We shared a plate of masala dosa and talked about how much the day was beginning to feel like scenes from Before Sunset (2004, dir. Richard Linklater). “If a camera was following us around, it would seem like we were on a date,” he joked. I laughed along.
We went back to his apartment, where his roommate had returned from the sports fete. We wanted to watch another movie, but couldn’t decide on one. We bounced ideas off the roommate. Then I said, “Wait, I know the perfect movie.” And at the same time he said, “No, I know the perfect movie.” Roommate said: “OK, why don’t you both say it on the count of three?” He counted down. And we both said: “Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist.”
So that should have been the second sign.
After Nick and Norah (me: five stars, he: four stars), he asked, “Is there something here?” and I, terrified out of my mind, said “Yeah, maybe.” And that’s how it began.
Well, I say “began”. We broke up two months later. He’d lost interest in me by then.
3.
I didn’t really want to go on this date, but I also didn’t really want to go home. I was in Mumbai. I was twenty. Why shouldn’t I have a bit of fun?
I got done with work at 8, and by the time I made it back to the suburbs it was 9:30. You’ve got to love that signature Mumbai 90-minute daily commute, huh? And I wasn’t even late. We’d decided to meet at 10. Plenty of time to get from the train station to the bar on Yari road.
He was already seated when I got there — and, from the looks of it, a couple of beers down. “Oh God,” I muttered underneath my breath. This was a mistake.
You’ve got to admit, though, I was committed to the bit. He’d mentioned in his profile that he’d spent a few years working in Singapore, so I figured that to be a good enough starting point. I tried talking about Singapore. Turns out he’d travelled quite a bit. I got a little excited: “You must love Southeast Asian food, huh?” He wasn’t a foodie. And he was a vegetarian.
OK. Pivoting. “Do you like movies?” Not really. “Do you read?” Not if he can help it. “What about, uhhh, sports?” He perked up a little. He watched football. I didn’t. Back to square one.
We got finger food. Have you heard of a schezwan chakli? As far as I can tell, it’s unique to Mumbai. It’s just a quarter plate of chaklis served with schezwan sauce. You dip the chakli into the sauce and eat it. Simple, but genius.
He made a face at the schewan. “It’s got too much oil.” Then he leaned across the table. “You want to get out of here?”
“Juuuust one second.” I reached for my phone and texted my best friend: help
My best friend called immediately. “This is my boss,” I said, apologetic. He motioned for me to get it.
“Krysaaanne,” said my dumb best friend on the phone. “Is it really going that badly?” “I’ve just reached home,” I said, “Do you need anything?” “OK, this is me pretending to give you work because I’m a horrible boss.” “Are you sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?” “It probably can, I dunno.” “Fine. I’ll send it to you in an hour.” He cackled. I cut the line.
“I’m super sorry,” I told him. “I have to go. Work. You know how it is.”
And I got the hell out of there.
I'm begging you to write a book Krys !!!
this was so fun to read! so relatable. man i want to write stories of all my first dates now.