Relish, Part I

The story with this guy is going to be a multi-parter. He had a funny name. For argument's sake, let's call him Relish, as in the condiment. You know, green, made from pickles?

So we met online and we hung out three times. I still wasn't really sure if I liked him or not, but you know what helps me determine whether I like someone or not? A good make-out session. They always help with judgement calls. So when he asked me to hang out the fourth time, I was really hoping he would ask me to "watch a movie at his place," which everybody knows is code for making out.

But alas, he didnt suggest that. He didn't have a plan at all. He invited me to his neck of the woods and didn't even have date IDEAS. We ended up walking around town and then we ate salads. And we split the check, he didn't offer to pay. All this is fine, but it's also an indication that this is NOT a date.

We go back to his house and I'm still thinking that I've put in my time and paid my dues by enduring four dates worth of obligatory getting-to-know-you small talk and when are we gonna make out already. In fact, four dates worth of small talk and not making out is overkill. I decide I'm gonna elbow my way into his house and see what happens...

So I'm all standing awkwardly in the driveway waiting to be invited inside, you know, like a vampire, and he gets the hint and is all faux-surprised that I'm lingering creepily, pretending like it never occurred to him I might want in and says, "Oh, do you want to come in or do you have to take off?" I think he felt obligated to invite me in because it was only like 8 p.m., but he didn't really want to. Never one to be so easily deterred by something as silly as the fact that a guy clearly wants me to leave, I say, "Well, I can come in for a few minutes."

So we walk past his downstairs bedroom, and he passes up this opportunity to invite me into it to view his childhood photos/matchbox car collection/Led Zeppelin CD box set/whatever other dumb excuse boys use to lure you into their bedrooms so they can get you into bed. So we go upstairs and drink water and stand around his kitchen in self-conscious silence, while his roommates wander in and out. I'm starting to wonder why he even asked me to hang out tonight.

Even though it's only like 8:30 p.m., he's yawning like crazy so I finally admit defeat, and say I gotta go. I realize that I'm getting neither a free salad nor laid tonight. He walks me to my car, kisses me like I'm his Goddamn grandmother (one kiss, way too polite, no tongue, no ass-grabbing) and he says, "I will call you Sunday."

Uh-huh, sure you will. (In today's dating world, "I will call you" has become a blow-off line. It's akin to letting someone down gently. If someone says they will call you, you can be sure they will NOT call you. It's not a lie. It's code. By telling you they will call you, they are letting you know, as nicely as possible, that they WILL NOT be calling you. Nice seeing you, but no thanks.) And keep in mind we had previously discussed hanging out Sunday night. He did not ask to see me Sunday night or try to make plans right then and there, even though he knew I was free, but instead said he would call me.

By the fourth date, shouldn't a guy be trying to get you into bed? That would be the respectable thing to do. So I leave annoyed that I showered for this and 100 percent certain this guy is NOT into me and that I will NOT be hearing from him Sunday, or any other day...