I’m going to blame the snow. On account of Philadelphia’s first real snow storm, I got a little stir crazy on Sunday night. And because my most recent foray into the world of online dating has endowed me with half a dozen eHarmony pen pals (each more intriguing than the last) I was also feeling a bit frisky. Why invite PSM#1 for a frolic through the snow when I could instead call upon PSM#2?
Especially since PSM#2 has been writing me lovely, novella-length emails for ever since we were “matched” a week and a half ago…
And so it was that I decided to introduce a new contender into the equation. “Would you stop emailing me and just ask me out already?” I punched into my keyboard Sunday morning (yes, I know, I have a real way with words). I proffered some excuse about my computer screen making my eyes hurt due to my relentless sinus infection and hit “send.”
A few minutes later, I had my response, a phone number and an invitation to dinner.
Unfortunately it was snowing and these snowflakes, unlike my waltzing preschoolers last week, spent the entire evening contriving to both blind and dismember me. I’m usually rather intrepid when it comes to snow (hence the fact that I agreed to meet PSM# 2 during a minor blizzard in the first place) but the walk to South Street nearly cost me life and very definitely did cost me the results of my careful mascara application.
The thing with snow—especially six inches of snow— is that it really narrows down your options in terms of both wardrobe and whereabouts. You have to dress warmly and seeing as the whole point of a first date is to expose just enough to intrigue the man in question, I was rather miffed to find myself forced to wear thick tights, my knee length boots, a turtleneck and a sweater dress beneath my long coat, hat, scarf and coordinated fleece gloves. (Had I not been living at home these days, I might have attempted to sneak out in something a bit more… a bit more pneumonia-inducing, but it’s rather difficult to get past the front door without being intercepted by one concerned parent or another.)
We agreed to meet at Headhouse, given its proximity to a large selection of restaurants, but we had to knock on the doors of three rather dark (and empty) establishments before we finally found one that was open.
Several hours later, we migrated to the South Street Diner for coffee and baklava and several hours after that, we finally parted ways at the base of the South Street Bridge with a hug and a simultaneous, “I had a really great time tonight.”
As a serial dater, I find myself saying these words rather often, even when the actual sentiments running through my head are more along the lines of, “You are abysmal, insufferable and whoever told you that you look good in that sweater was seriously mistaken.” This time however, I said my goodbyes with the utmost sincerity and only just barely managed to stop myself from yelling “Call me!” (in rather desperate fashion) across the snow-covered street.
What happened between the hours of eight o’clock and midnight to leave me so transfixed? Well, we talked. And talked. And talked, and cracked ourselves up for nearly four hours straight. PSM#2 has a sense of humor nearly identical to my own, by which I mean totally awesome with just the right combination of sarcasm and tastefully refined wit. Oddly enough, we didn’t discuss any of my usual high brow first date topics so I can’t really comment on his opinion of F. Scott Fitzgerald or classical music, but for whatever reason, I don’t care. He made me laugh, with that same deadpan facetiousness that I found so attractive in Date #17 to begin with, and aside from one low point in the conversation when I felt compelled (for whatever reason) to describe, in detail, the massive multi-layer blister I’ve incurred from my new tap shoes, I was at my gregarious-yet-charming best.
(And it’s not often that I feel “gregarious” is an apt description for my behavior.)
So where’s the problem? The problem is this: PSM #1 has been rather vague about his New Years Eve plans ever since we first broached the subject last week. Given his willingness to take me out three times in one week and subject himself to Black Swan on my account, I believe this is because he’s angling for some sort of countdown-to-midnight rendezvous with Yours Truly.
PSM#2, on the other hand, is also weighing his options but his eyes lit up when I mentioned the dress I’ll be wearing for New Years Eve (it is most definitely pneumonia-inducing). As such, I’m fairly certain I could convince PSM#2 to “drop by” the Richter Family New Years Eve Martini Bar Soiree but I myself only intend to put in an appearance at the Soiree before waltzing off to Old City with my out-of-town friends in tow.
Unfortunately, it’s virtually impossible to go barhopping on New Years Eve in Philadelphia because all of the venues worth frequenting institute a ridiculous assortment of all-inclusive packages for the big night. I’ve attempted to organize my small posse of girlfriends into an efficient (and well-dressed) team of Carrie Bradshaw lookalikes (in possession of actual tickets to one of these all-inclusive events) for several years running but thus far, I’ve never managed (don’t even get me started on the drama of New Year Eve 2006). 2010 has been no exception.
So… do I polish off a quick round of martinis at my parents’ place, head into town and attempt to rendezvous with both PSM#1 and PSM#2 at some sort of non-inclusive watering hole? Or do I invite both of them to “drop by” and hope that A) they don’t run into each other, B) I don’t get drunk and start mixing up their names and C) my blog-reading public (who will comprise at least 25% of my parents’ guests) will behave when faced with the prospect of meeting one of my PSMs.
(Not that I think any of you soon to arrive at Casa Richter would intentionally embarrass me or one of my PSMs but a martini is a martini and loose lips sink ships, plus it seems like cruel and unusual punishment to subject a new PSM to a room full of strangers who’ve been reading up on him. I may have bent a few rules for the sake of this experiment but I will uphold the statutes of the Geneva Convention.)
So as you can see, I’ve got a bit of a dilemma on my hands. I suppose that problems of this sort are the very reason why most people err on the side of monogamy.