When Things are Too Perfect

Everyone likes the perfect date. The man who thinks of everything and knows all the rules is a rare find. It's what every girl is looking for, right?

So my date, we'll call him Scott, was charming from the beginning. I met him at a dance and he stood out from the crowd...mostly by just being normal. :) He was attractive, interesting, educated, and even had rhythm. What's not to love? We go out for appetizers and spend 3 hours talking about life and beliefs and everything in between. He asks questions, he carries the conversation, and most importantly, he picks up the $70 happy hour tab (food too, people, I wasn't smashed!).

Our next date was for dessert. I had just extracted myself from an unpleasant situation and he was sympathetic, concerned, and understanding. Again, it was a wonderful evening of conversation and I enjoyed my time out with him. We disagreed in many areas, but the conversation was challenging, not uncomfortable, and a marvelous invitation to display my witty repartee as I met his ideas and positions with logic and humor.

The next time he called, he invited me over to his house to cook some ethnic specialities. I hadn't gotten the serial killer vibe from him yet, so I readily agreed to an evening of free food and no work to get it. Perfect! He has already prepared most of the dinner and just has a few things to finish up. He shows me how to make a popular dish, obviously taking great pride in his ability and presentation--adorable. The table is set, the candles are lit, there's lovely music in the background; he hasn't forgotten a thing.

I should mention at this point that while I enjoy our conversations thoroughly, in no deviation from character or past experiences, I feel no spark, no interest, no romantic attraction. I know our core beliefs are different, and I'm not quite convinced of how focused his attentions are. Have I really caught his interest or am I just the girl of the month? Granted, I'm a huge advocate of casual dating. I think too many people have unrealistic expectations of what comes after saying, "sure," to a Friday dinner invite. Hypocritically, if I don't think I'm special, I'm not giving an inch. I'll flirt, but I'm guarded. (I think I can flirt in my sleep, through major crises, and perhaps standing on my head. It's rather incorporated into my personality these days).

After dinner he caresses my hand while gazing intently into my eyes -- hm...what is he expecting? Like I didn't know. He pulls out the Altoids. That's when it hit me--he done this so many times. He hasn't forgotten a thing. He knows the right order, the rules, the expectations. Everything is...perfect...perfect, like ... like a machine. Churn out one date, two dates. Happy hour, dessert, home cooked dinner, Altoids, --Altoids! Danger!

I knew I wasn't really interested and I didn't want to kiss him. I'd have to start planning "the dodge." He suggests we move our conversation to the couch, which is more comfortable. Indeed it is. He keep offering wine ("No, no, I'm driving, really, no, I have to drive back, nope, none for me, thanks. DD for myself, you know"). He imbibes liberally. As we're sitting in the couch, I keep my gaze straight ahead. I know any false move in his direction would be the end of my determination for chaste lips. Trying not to move a muscle while trying to carry on a quasi-normal conversation isn't entirely easy, by the way.

I can tell I won't be able to keep this up long, so at no particular trigger point, I jump up and say, "Thanks so much, gotta go!" I can tell he's slightly confused. "Did I say something?" (Well, yes, but it's been over the last few dates--I'm just not interested. Sorry dude). "No, no, it's a school night, you know. Alarm clock hastens and all." I gather my things and turn to say thanks and goodnight. He goes for the kiss. I turn my head to offer my cheek. I don't know if it was the alcohol or what, but seeing that he missed his target, he tries again. I put up my hand and mumble something inane like, "Oh sorry, I just don't know you that well," as I quickly give him a consolation hug and bolt for the door.

Yes, an awkward exit for all parties involved. Note to men: When she gives you the cheek, you're done. It's over. Not that night. Don't try again. Also, it's great for things to go well on a date, but sometimes perfection can backfire. Nobody wants to feel like you've got your formula down and you know what works so just plug in the next girl and see what happens. Maybe it felt rote because he was only interested by inches and I hadn't given him much encouragement to develop deeper feelings. But it was also his downfall.

Ah well, three free meals. Good enough for me.