A Date or Something Like It

As a single woman, being new to the city inevitably makes you new to the dating scene. Yet, it seems as though the men of New York are much like Rubik’s cubes. They look fun and colorful, but they’re not as easy to figure out. For instance, do some men intentionally bypass chivalrous acts, or do they forget to open doors because they are so used to subway and building doors opening automatically. Don’t get me wrong, there is always a man willing to help me carry my heavy grocery cart up the subway stairs or carry my rented ladder from the hardware store to my apartment door. But those things are obvious. Opening doors or walking on the outside are those less obvious acts that really set men apart.

Another thing I have not figured out is when I should consider going out with a man a date…or something like it. I recently met up with a guy I met on New Year’s and had accidentally – my touch screen phone would dial his number in my handbag when my key lock was off – kept in contact with. He is a Brooklyn native, and I had planned on spending my Sunday afternoon at the Brooklyn Flea Market, so we decided to get together. A thunder storm cut our trip to the flea market short and we ended up at a near by sushi restaurant. After wowing him with my sushi knowledge, which was nothing more than a well memorized list of all the things Bond used to order when he took me out for sushi, we went to the movies. Afterwards, we made an impromptu visit to Home Depot, which was followed by a second meal. I had not planned on going on a date, as a matter of fact I’m not interested in dating right now, but as I sat at the bar eating my hot wings listening to him tell me about his last serious relationship and the number of children he wanted, I started to wonder if this had inadvertently turned into a date.

My mind instantly flashed back to an uncomfortable moment Dez and I had a week earlier while having dinner with the Mayor. In the midst of all the great food and small talk the Mayor’s colleague blurted out the most unexpected comment, “This is a great place to have a first date.” With out hesitation Dez and I, in unison, replied, “THIS AIN’T NO DATE!”

I was hoping I could avoid repeating that scenario with my Brooklyn ambassador. And thankfully, I did. There was absolutely no “date” conversation prior to, or during our meeting; and I assure you I am not one to make assumptions. However, it made me wonder about these New York men. At what point does going out with one of them turn into a date? Is it after the third hour, or after the third destination? Is there a financial cap that mayor Bloomberg put into place which allows men to spend only so much before they are automatically considered “on a date?” Or is the idea that a man will ask you out, and allow you the chance to say yes or no, SO retro it is being auctioned off in the vintage category on eBay?

♥ J’aime Bianca