I recently told someone I didn’t want a second date with him. He said I was probably a racist.
One of the hardest parts of dating is having to tell someone that you’re not interested. When faced with this dilemma, I chose the least offensive but still true reason to give. Lately, though, guys haven’t taken the no as gracefully as I’ve tried to give it. I’ve been called shallow, racist, and a liar–in each case, the guy is arguing that my reason isn’t real–that it’s a cover for some darker thing that reflects badly on me. I can certainly understand the sour grapes impulse, but it’s frustrating to not have politeness returned.
Haven’t they ever heard the phrase “just not that into you”?
They guy mentioned above had several strikes–I didn’t really enjoy our conversation, he said he would never go to a play (even though he’d never been to one), he plans to move away next year, and he’d managed to forget that I have a son. I gave him the penultimate reason–which is true–I’m looking for a long-term partner. He said I was full of bullshit and that I was probably just a racist.
(I’d have to be an incredible racist–it’s one thing to refuse to date someone of another race–it’s another to agree to a date just to get a member’s of that race’s hopes up so that the racist might better dash them.)
Recently, a friend forwarded a great article about why a woman doesn’t always write back during online dating. I could so relate. In honor of that, culled from many years, here’s why I don’t want a second date.
You didn’t make eye contact.
You never asked me anything about myself.
The one response to finding out what I did for a living was “good for you.”
You’re not funny.
You said “I love you.”
You were really late even though you admitted you had nothing else happening in your life that day.
You pressured me for sex.
You laughed like a donkey–and I made you laugh a lot.
I said I was a feminist and you asked why I hated men.
You seemed too contemptuous of other people–too negative.
You had obviously lied in your profile.
I had no desire to have you touch me.
I told you what I did for a living and you physically recoiled.
You smelled bad.
You said, “so, since you’re a single mother, people don’t plan on dating you for long, right?”
You admitted you’re uncomfortable with smart women.
I didn’t think it would bother me that you’re my father’s age, but it did.
You talked about money too much.
You had an obvious wedding ring tan.
I let you kiss me and you didn’t move your tongue at all and then explained that you always kissed people like that the first time because you’re testing what a woman might do with her tongue to another body part.
You seem to be jealous and possessive already.
You don’t like it when women talk about sex or when they use bad words.
You proposed.
You gave me $100 in a card.
I was bored.
I wasn’t ready, really, to be on a first date with anyone.
You assumed I was a spoiled-daddy’s girl (yes, you used those words) and thought it would turn me on when you talked about how you would spoil me.
You tried to touch me way before it was okay.
Everything was a double-entendre, but none of them were even clever.
I was more interested in someone else.
We had talked on the phone and you’d asked the “how’d you end up a single mom” question. You asked it again on the date and expressed equal surprise at the answer, like you’d never heard it before.
Your mouth is exactly the same as another person’s I used to date–it’s creepy.
