I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that 11 days ago I had one of the best first dates of my life. And that very rarely ever happens.
So it was, like, a BIG deal, but maybe just for me? Because (spoiler alert) there was no happily ever after.
(So WHY, OH WHY I continue to romanticise this night in my head is BEYOND me, but alas, here we are.)
Anyway. It was a Saturday night. It was a super-spontaneous invitation, and I thought, what the hell, let’s do it. And so we met at the sexiest underground bar in the city.
Watch: Relationship red flags. Post continues after video.
I arrived, dressed in my favourite little black dress, and holy moly he was even hotter than in his photos. But more importantly, the conversation was on fire.
From one cocktail to the next, we didn’t stop talking, endlessly interrupting each other to ask more questions. From ‘Are your parents still in love?’ to ‘Tell me about your last heartbreak’, the conversation spiralled deeper as we opened up, sharing our vulnerabilities. He told me about his songwriting – something he’d always kept so private, he said – and we chatted about wanting kids.
My date had already mentioned that he was an affectionate guy by the time he reached out and took my hand. Facing each other on bar stools, we got closer and closer, until – halfway through a conversation about the difficult relationship he has with his brother-in-law – he kissed me.