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Old Bread Pus-say: The Nightmarish Reality of Online Dating in Your 30’s

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Online dating as a thirty-something in NYC is almost in and of itself a punchline to a bad joke.

However, there are those of us who have to live this reality and somehow resist becoming jaded or disconnected from the opposite sex. Well, to them I say, good luck; I’ve been on these sites and have dated vigorously to satiate a curiosity that existed probably while I was still in a relationship.

Online dating, exactly who’s out there?

I once went out with a guy I met on an online dating website. The conversation seemed pleasant enough as we small talked our way to an actual meet up. He seemed promising; a good looking man with a stable job within walking distance of my own.

“Meet me in front of the MetLife building next to Bryant Park.”

Seemed easy enough, problem is there are 2 MetLife buildings in Midtown. I called to express that I was going to be late.

“Umm, where are you?”

“I’m sorry, I got lost, I’ll be there like in five minutes

“Ugh ok.” Click.

Wait did he just hang up on me?  Maybe a bad day in the office? I brushed it off and continued, I mean, being late is annoying to anyone but I wasn’t sure what building he meant.  I finally arrive at the correct MetLife building. Duh Jane, it was the one next to Bryant Park. 

I see Durrell standing in office attire and he looks pretty peeved. 

“Hey!” I say with the biggest smile I can muster in the moment.

“Hey” he responds dryly. “You got lost? I thought you worked in the area.”

“I do, it’s just there are two MetLife buildings”

“I mean, what did I text you?” He whips out his phone, agitated.

How am I already being chastised by a man I just met?  I literally just laugh at the anger of this perfect stranger, and yeah, that would be the end of the date for most girls, but I needed the life experience after not dating in about half-a-decade. Screw it.  He crosses the street swiftly, being sure to leave me behind in hurried annoyance as we make our way to the pop up bar located inside of Bryant Park

When we get there, his temperament seems to have lighted up a bit. 

He smiles.“How was your day?’

“It was good, just busy”

He offers me the last vacant barstool, ok maybe this won’t suck.  He offers me a beer to which I say what I always say: “I’ll take one of whatever you’re having.” A Bronx Ale.  It was yummy, but nowhere near strong enough to help me endure the rest of this date. Still, experience is experience right?

We continue to talk about our jobs and various hobbies. 

I make a few jokes which he laughs at, but then quips with, “You’re weird.”

Ok, I get that a lot. I don’t mind and in fact, I relish my general weirdness. So I say thank you.  Still smiling he says, “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“Well to me it is, I’d rather be weird then unauthentic.”

It seemed he was annoyed; his insult wasn’t interpreted the way he intended.

“Or you could just be one of those chicks who try to be weird to be different.”

I laughed, hard. “I don’t try to be weird that would be exhausting.”

“Umm, sure, ok buddy.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and I jump a little.

“So you also flinch when people touch you, God you’re so weird.”

With my default smile plastered on my face, all I thought was, “Nooo I just saw your capacity for anger, I don’t know you and I’m from Brooklyn.”

Halfway through my beer, all I’m thinking is just a few more sips, and I’m done. I can run home and tell my friends that Cagey-Jane actually completed a date. 

I don’t remember how the conversation reared off into sex, but I’m assuming that’s common practice on dates nowadays. I had no comparison.  I think I said something about the drunken 20-something that bumped me. He replied that older women are usually hostile and jealous of younger women. 

I laughed hard again, he looked perplexed.  I begin to explain that I like being in my thirties. I have no desire to go back to being an insecure, stumbling, bumbling 20-something. 

Once again, it seemed that he was upset his insinuation didn’t offend me. He rolled his eyes and stated that if we were to take a poll of the men in the bar and asked them what they preferred,  20-year-old-pussy or 30-year-old-pussy, they’d all opt for the former.

“You see Jane, pussy is like bread, it doesn’t get better with time.”

I believe I laughed the hardest at this concept.  Not because it wasn’t untrue; I’m sure New York City is filled with sexually uneducated men.  I laughed because he was really, really trying to get under my skin. 

“You do know women don’t reach their sexual peak till their 30s” I reply a bit seriously. I guess maybe I thought I could educate this man who, was also in his early 30’s.

“Relax Jane, stop getting emotional -” and again there goes that hand on my shoulder.

This statement caused me to burst into a fit of almost hysterical laughter. Did this man I just met really think that I was affected by his blazing insecurity and overall lack of tact or etiquette? Seeing that I was generally unaffected and that the beers he ordered were done he suggested we leave.  I was beyond relieved. 

Clearly this man was not interested in me or my 32-year-old “old bread” pussy. 

We parted ways with a kiss on the cheek, and to my surprise he compliments my sandals because “they really pull my outfit together” and says we should do this again. Huh?

 Again? Sure! When my pussy dries up into bread crumbs, I’ll holler at you. 

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