The Online Dating Chronicles
Episode 2: Nancy
Dating
Episode 2: Nancy
NANCY
Nancy’s profile state that she was a “curvy” woman.
In dating app speak, that meant she was a larger girl. As I mentioned in Episode 1, that stuff didn’t really matter. I was beginning to date, and I was really looking for a connection. Besides, my in-app chatting with Nancy had been fun. She sounded like she had a great sense of humor, and I laughed a lot as we went back and forth as we connected over pinball.
I threw a playful gauntlet down by challenging her to a game. She accepted, and I set up the “date” to be at an arcade bar close to me.
Taking note that she didn’t have any kids, which was a plus, I would use the pinball challenge to determine if there was a minus.
A slave to punctuality, I arrived early and got two seats at the bar. Nancy showed up a little late. I immediately noticed either my definition of “curvy” was wrong, or Nancy was stretching the truth.
“Oh, I’m sorry I’m a little late. The GPS kept giving me different directions.”
“It’s all good.”
“And then I couldn’t decide if I should park on the street or in the garage, so I circled the block a few times.”
“And where did you land?”
“On the street. Do you think it’s safe?”
It was a Tuesday night, and it was snowing outside: “Yes, I think you’ll be fine.”
During our chats, I didn’t really pick up that Nancy appeared to have trouble making decisions. But maybe I was too critical; that’s been known to happen.
So I told myself to have fun with it. We had fun chatting online, so why would this be any different?
It was different.
I asked what she wanted to drink as I called the bartender over. At first, she said, “I’ll have a coke. I have to drive. No, wait, maybe I’ll have a beer. What are you having?” I didn’t have time to reply before she asked: “Oh, I don’t know, what do you think I should have?”
Furrowing my brow, I just looked at her for a moment: “Well, have whatever you want. It’s a bar. I’m sure they have it.”
“Oh, I don’t know … I have to drive later.”
My inside voice said: “Probably sooner rather than later.”
As I shrugged, it came out as: “Get whatever you want.”
Since it was a snowy Tuesday night, the bar was pretty empty, and the bartender had some time to wait. Although, I don’t think she realized how long she might have to wait.
“What’s in Black Russian?”
“Vodka and Kahlua,” the bartender said flatly: “and ice.”
Nancy looked to me: “Are those good?”
“I guess. If you like vodka and Kahlua.”
“And ice,” said the bartender.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
The bartender looked at me with her eyes bulging.
“Oh, I’ll try the Black Russian then.”
The bartender escaped before Nancy had time to reconsider.
We toasted meeting one another, and I found out she was just as much fun to chat with in person as she was online. Scattered and indecisive, but fun. I asked her if she was still up for my pinball challenge.
“Oh, I can’t. I just got my nails done.”
“I’m sorry, your what now?”
“My nails.” She jammed her right hand into my face. These were not nails; they were talons. And each had a wild and vomitous array of colors that would make a person with epilepsy have a seizure.
Naturally, I asked: “Are those real?”
Nancy laughed: “Of course not silly. They’re acrylics. I spent a fortune on them, so I don’t want them to crack on the flipper buttons, ya know?”
Fearing my mouth may have been open, I turned away and focused my attention on the menu: “No, I get it.”
I did not get it. Those nails were hideous: “Well, are you hungry?” I asked.
I’m not exaggerating when I immediately saw her eyes begin to panic, and I sensed more indecision was forthcoming.
I was not wrong.
She asked: “I don’t know. Are you?”
“Yes, I didn’t eat dinner.”
“Ok, I guess I could eat something. But I should tell you I am a vegan. Hopefully, they have something I can eat.”
I made a mental note to check her stats because I didn’t recall seeing any mention of a vegan: “Oh. I’m sure there is something.”
“Well, I just became one last week.”
“What?”
“A vegan.”
I felt better realizing she just hadn’t updated her profile.
She asked me: “Have you ever been here before?”
“No. Not for food. Just to play video games.”
“Do you think the salads are good?”
“I have no idea, but it seems hard to fuck up lettuce.”
“Hmm, maybe I’ll just get an appetizer. OH! Maybe zucchini sticks. Does that sound good?”
“Not to me. I don’t like zucchini.”
“Oh,” she sounded disappointed.
Nancy ran almost every possible menu item by me first before finally settling on buffalo-style cauliflower, “That sounds good, right?”
It was becoming harder to hide my snark: “Yes. Delicious.”
As Nancy described what her job was like, I pictured what sex with her would be like. Judging by her indecisiveness with parking, alcohol, and food, I could only imagine it would’ve been a problematic series of positions, not choreographed by pleasure but by her indecision.
As the bartender dropped our food off, Nancy had just dropped the bombshell that her ex-husband was still sleeping on her couch. The bartender’s eyes caught mine again, and I subtly shrugged.
Now, this was a detail definitely not on her profile.
“Oh. Is he?”
“Well, we’re not sleeping together anymore.”
“I have to be honest; I would think having your ex-husband crashing on your couch might put a cramp in your dating.” What was she gonna do, hang a sock on the door when she brought a guy home?
“Well, after we got divorced, he had nowhere to go.”
I have always had the grave misfortune of wearing my emotions on my face, so I have no doubt my face was contorted with incredulity and shock: “That’s very nice of you.”
“I couldn’t kick him out.”
My inside voice said: “Why not?”
But it just came out as a nod in agreement and: “Mm-hmm.”
I was mid-bite on my burger when she revealed that she even helped him build his dating profile. I took a pull from my beer to try and mask my choking.
“I’m sorry, you did what now?”
“He had said he wanted to date again, so I helped him build a profile.”
“That’s going above and beyond ex-wife and friend duties.”
“I even bought him some new clothes for him to go on dates.”
I coughed.
“Are you okay?” Nancy asked.
“Yea, yea, just went down the wrong pipe.”
She delicately put a piece of cauliflower in her mouth while saying: “He doesn’t have a job, so, you know …”
I did not know.
I couldn’t help myself: “So you helped your unemployed, sleeping on your couch, ex-husband set up his dating profile and bought him a new wardrobe for him to date?”
“Yea,” she wrinkled her face: “Is that weird?”
I noticed a little spot of buffalo sauce on her lip, and that endeared her to me. But I had to be honest: “Yea Nancy, that’s very strange.”
“Do you want to leave?”
Not quite a leap I had expected. On the one hand, yes, but on the other, I still had half a burger and a fresh pint to kill. Besides, I was waiting to hear how she’d given this freeloading asshole one of her kidneys: “No. Not at all.”
We continued talking, and her vapid indecisiveness was growing on me. I was beginning to enjoy her company, but I knew that she wasn’t my type. I didn't have that tingly feeling. I also knew that her indecisiveness would eventually infuriate me.
When it came time to pay the check, I pulled it off the bar.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I don’t really mind if you want to split it.”
Hell, I probably could’ve gotten her to pay for it: “No, no. I got it. Really.”
We left, and I walked her to her car and kissed her. It was a surprisingly soft and likable kiss. I pulled away first: “We should do this again.”
Now why I said that is beyond me.
“Oh, I would like that.”
“Great. I’ll be in touch,” and I kissed her cheek and waited for her to get in and start her car knowing I would never be in touch.
I liked Nancy and found a certain sweetness about her, but there was no spark …and you can’t start a fire without a spark, or so I have heard.
After I got home, I deleted the app from my phone.
Follow the fun:
Episode 1: Maya