The best part of fall? Dates. On patios. In boots and rompers. With schmancy cocktails in hand.
The worst part of fall? Falling for someone. On patios. In boots and rompers. With schmancy cocktails in hand.
Last weekend, I met the best Bumble boy — TripleB — and even if this ends (please God, don’t let it end, even though I know it always will, until it doesn’t, but it does… #realist), I think this is the closest seamless-lock-in puzzle piece I’ve ever encountered, so it’s good to know there could be a Harvey to this Sabrina out there, somewhere. I may fall apart, or we may fall together. I guess that’s the best-worst gamble I took when I scheduled a date for September 22nd.*
*The first day of fall, for those of you who are wondering of this date’s significance. #AutumnalEquinoxMagic
take a deep breath in the mirror, he didn’t like it when i wore high heels, but i do.
I slipped on my favorite short-sleeved summer-fall transition romper with a dark floral fabric, which showed a tiny lil peek at my tummy, to give off an I’m-wholesome-and-casually-classy-but-also-kinda-sexy-if-you’re-paying-attention essence, and I paired it with my I-got-these-at-Plato’s-Closet-for-real-cheap gray boots. Insecurities of “husky little boy calves” that my first ex — the king of being casually cruel in the name of being honest — once clearly informed me I strut when I should hide were now being highlighted. If I was gonna meet a guy for the first time, he was gonna have my least attractive features up-front so it was all out in the open from the get-go.
You’re adorable. — TripleB
He uttered this compliment unsolicited, in response to my reference of another date I had lined up and this other contender’s lack of reciprocated follow-your-future date’s-Instagram protocol enthusiasm. His compliment sounded to hold more, as if he held back. His shock and disdain for an idiot male to not want to gaze on my quirky pic-against-a-mural-background poses kicked up a bit of sparkly shine from within me. I couldn’t help but beam and smile.
turn the lock and put my headphones on, he always said he didn’t get this song, but i do.
I casually referenced how I have a background in music, downplaying my abilities to the extreme so the incredibly-gorgeous professional musician in front of me wouldn’t give such a big part of my story a second thought, because if I’ve learned anything about musicians, it’s that they’re competitive, hate me, and my casual talent only causes jealousy and the need to belittle — opportunity to be reminded he can find another girl out there with some indie record that’s much cooler than mine — and my new Nashville life tolerates zero space for negative judgment.
Wait, you taught piano? — TripleB
He paused time with his words. There was something about his eyes when he interjected this sentence. They lit up. His heart might’ve even skipped a beat (mine did, and I also stopped breathing). His tone of surprise, intrigue, fascination, as if I’d struck a chord within him that made him fall for me, even if just for a moment, is one that will ring on in infamy in my books.
walked in expecting you to be late, but you got here early and you stand and wave, i walk to you.
I exited my Lyft (cuz you die in an Uber), a minute before our set date and he stood there outside the bar in his baseball tee and killing-it-with-that-artsy-vibe flat cap at the entryway. My nerves were shaking off the charts, and be it out of nervousness or natural charm (maybe both?), he made a very lame-and-hilarious joke. He thought I was funny over text message, but the charm was probably all used up, or so I had been trained to believe from an ex — the one that likely tells his friends that I’m obsessive and crazy (that’s fine) — and the interest was probably over by this point, as my ability to hold a guy’s amused attention is roughly between a nanosecond and a minute (on a good day).
“I just bought the place. I’ve never been here but I own it now. And that’s why I don’t get carded.” — TripleB
He carried on from there but I couldn’t think straight. Even in this moment, the context for what prompted the joke escapes me. Context, however, was irrelevant as I was suddenly assured that if my dorky jokes were to ever have a continued audience, this fella could either applaud my stand-up routine or riff in a duo-improv set. Conversation was not about to tank like it did with that one guy from Gallatin, and that other one from Franklin.
you said you never met one girl who had as many james taylor records as you, but i do
I mentioned in a pre-date Snapchat conversation my playlist for the morning and I made reference to classic Beatles songs that I only learned by way of a film soundtrack – one only I ever seem to know – that featured covers of the iconic compositions that would introduce me to their OG songwriters that the rest of the world already knew. I blamed this on my conservative upbringing. Seems he had as similar experience.
I learned who The Beatles were from a movie soundtrack. — TripleB
He didn’t even seem like he was lying to try and craft a manipulative world of align-with-and-then-destroy-the-girl control over me like my cheating ex — the master of words like knives and swords and weapons that he used against me — and genuinely had a parallel eye-opening viewing of a movie which revealed this whole new realm of harmonious wonder that is The Beatles.
and you start to talk about the movies that your family watches every single christmas
I hesitated to speak of my feelings on specific film references his comments triggered in my head as I 1) have unique tastes that so very few seem to understand, including my family, and 2) was intimidated by the pop culture enthusiast in front of me who would clearly know way more and have stronger, cooler opinions on anything I would bring up. My independent Anna Kendrick film mention was met with affirmation, despite it being prefaced with a you-probably-haven’t-seen-it-but disclaimer.
Yeah! — TripleB
He packed another strong punch in the shortest of sentences, as he expressed in a single word how he not only knew what I was saying but saw where the conversation would then be headed, both in terms of film and our kindred, black-sheep-of-the-clan struggles. Our conversational lead-and-follow dance was rhythmically in sync — we were dancing, like we’re made of starlight, starlight — and it was perfect.
but on a wednesday at a cafe, i watched it begin again.
He liked an Instagram photo of me (one taken right around when I had originally swiped right) that was taken on a Wednesday eve at a cafe, a photo captioned with lyrics from the Taylor Swift song I daydreamed, as I Bumbled and sipped on a cappuccino, could be my reality some day again in the moments before I smiled for the camera, unknowingly a foreshadowing of what was to come.
Crying Wolf would be fun. What time works for you? I’d like to spend as much time with you as allowed. — TripleB
I let my eyes meet his three days later when we were brought together in person — he pulled my chair out and helped me in, threw his head back laughing like a little kid, we told stories and he didn’t know why I came off a little shy (I did), but what’s past is past — and I watched it begin again.