The Online Dating Chronicles
Episode 4: Molly
Dating
Episode 4: Molly
Molly
According to the dating app, Molly and I matched on 96% of the questions that we both answered. I guess that means, according to the app’s algorithm, we would get along …96% of the time.
By now, I knew the dance of communicating on apps. You start on the app, and if that goes well, one of you suggests taking the conversation off the app and swapping phone numbers. If that continues to go well, you set up a coffee/lunch/drink or something like that.
And that’s how it went with Molly and me.
A native of the west coast, I found her presence on the east coast interesting. I had always imagined it being the opposite. In any event, Molly told me her story — school in SoCal, teaching in Midwest, then the move east. Molly was, and probably still is, an academic. Her move east was prompted by a teaching job at one of the most prestigious colleges in the world.
I had always thought the ivy league walls were impenetrable unless you attended the same type of institutions. Surprisingly, Molly thought that was also the case. But all it takes is one person who is willing to take a chance and be your champion. Ain’t that just like life?
Today they’re called mentors.
Years ago, they were called “rabbis.”
Molly didn’t want to become one of the stuffy ivy league college professors whose ass was so tight it could flatten a penny like a train, so she kept her individuality (and rebellion) alive by rotating her hair color. While I certainly appreciated the spirit, I can’t imagine it played well with the corduroy, elbow patches, and tweed of her colleagues.
Well, it wasn’t a deal-breaker for her. In one of our conversations, Molly said that she had recently received tenure. Now, as little as I know about academia, I know enough that’s a huge deal.
One of the only good things about online dating is that you’ll meet people you’d probably never meet under normal circumstances. Molly is a fine example because the odds are pretty slim that I would encounter an ivy league college professor on my own.
Her pictures all indicated she was attractive. Her bio claimed she “had a little extra” in reference to her figure. That must’ve been the SoCal body dysmorphia thing because I didn’t see any evidence of that.
Now I consider myself somewhat of a sapiosexual. In other words, I’m attracted to intelligence first. And through our correspondence, it was clear Molly had that covered.
It’s important to note that I’ve crossed paths with many ivy league graduates in my life, and if they’re the graduates of these institutions, let’s say that just because she taught at a fancy college, that was no promise of intelligence. Thankfully, Molly was wicked smart.
And I won’t lie — the thought of defiling an ivy league college professor was appealing.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
After some clever discourse over text, we decided to meet IRL. Molly and I agreed to have lunch at a quaint little Italian restaurant downtown.
I sent her a text as I waited outside the restaurant and saw her walk down the sidewalk. Her hair wasn’t purple or blue, as it was in her pictures. It was now silver. Not grey, silver. In my head, I shrugged.
Not being 17 anymore, lips, tits, and ass aren’t enough to spark something in me (but they do contribute). And while Molly had those three covered perfectly, and she was intelligent, I would’ve thought I would feel a little something. But no.
What I’m hoping for when I meet someone is some kind of spark. Something that ignites a little something. It could be a walk, a look, a smile, tripping on a rock, and it can quite literally be anything.
Let me at least try to explain how I see it.
Attraction is such an individual thing, and who knows how, when, or why it works. But when it does, it’s fantastic. For me (aside from intelligence, lips, tits, and ass), I look for someone who has a degree of comfort in their sexuality.
Some people radiate sex, some force it to a fault, and others are unknowingly sensual AND sexual. Those are the women I like. And that isn’t something that can be forced by clothes, make-up, plastic surgery, or any other kind of pretense. For me, it has got to be natural. That “thing” (whatever it is) is something that lives inside somebody.
The spark for me is when someone carries themselves with confidence that encompasses every part of their being. That’s hot.
As I watched Molly walk towards me, I didn’t sense that.
When Molly walked up to me, I picked up a very non-sexual vibe from her. That’s shallow and judgey, I will admit. But if you’ve read the other three posts, then you know I can be that way sometimes.
Nonetheless, I soldiered on because, well, it was lunch, and I was hungry (shallow and judge, remember?). Besides, who knows, maybe there was something there. As I’ve gotten older, life has taught me not to be dismissive too quickly.
During lunch, we chatted about the usual, bland crap one talks about on these dates. It was nice enough. But again, nothing. The bill came, and she offered to split it, but I picked it up.
We hugged and said our goodbyes, agreeing to meet again. Of course, I knew enough there was a 50/50 chance of that happening.
But we did continue communicating and agreed to meet the following week at a park nearby. Molly suggested we pick up some sandwiches and hang out in the park. That seemed kind of dull to me, but I just kept telling myself that this was about the experience.
We met at a place (still nothing when I saw her), got some food, and headed over to sit in the park and talk. I have nothing against sitting outside, and I’m not the world’s biggest fan of eating outside, but I went with it.
Again, more chatting about bland stuff; however, the more we talked, the more I learned she was kind of outdoorsy. I mean seriously outdoor type. Suddenly, I began thinking that Molly may be one of those progressive, outdoorsy, intellectual types. In my head, that paints a particular type of person. And I will admit, there is no subtle way to say this, but the type of man or woman who may be all that into bathing …and shaving.
I know, I know. I’m horrible. I’m not that much of a hygiene freak. But still …
While I may shower twice a day, it’s not a requirement of a partner (but some type of interaction with water is). And look, I am not into a woman who is as hairless as a Sphynx cat — but I’m also not interested in a Lady Bigfoot with a giant 70s porno bush.
I had absolutely NOTHING to base that off of, just our conversation. Which seemed to be going nowhere, and that’s what allowed for my mind to wander where it did.
We again wrapped up, hugged, and agreed to meet again. Frankly, by this point, there was no spark, and there would not be a spark. But, I was curious to see if my hair theory held any water.
The text came about five hours after that second lunch:
“Thanks for lunch. I had a lot of fun. Unfortunately, I don’t think we’re traveling on the same path, so I am gonna move on. I wish you the best. Take care.”
I replied:
“Okay. Thanks for the note.”
I suppose the good news is that I wasn’t the only one not feeling a spark. And, as I and many others have said, you can’t start a fire without a spark.
Of course, it stung for a hot second. No one likes rejection, but I think I was probably more stung about never being able to prove my hair theory …or having the chance to defile an ivy league professor.
As I close this fourth episode, you may be wondering if I’ve had any good experiences with dating applications.
I have.
I’m still working on that story.