I’m supposed to meet my second jdate the week before my first jdate. Two hours before our scheduled meeting time, I’m lying on my sofa, contemplating getting ready.
A message arrives: Traffic is horrendous on the bridge. It will take you forever to get there. Maybe we should meet another day. Best if you call me to discuss.
I’m a bit perplexed that someone would check into traffic conditions for someone else’s fifteen-minute drive, but I’m also feeling lazy, so I continue lying on the sofa and turn on a movie. I message back, No problem, let’s try for next week.
A few days later, he follows up. I’m sorry we didn’t meet last weekend. How does this Sunday look? You pick the place!
He suggests we meet at a spot halfway between us, but which I’ve told him I am totally unfamiliar with. I search Yelp for coffee places and suggest one that looks like it might also be a bakery; regardless of how the date goes, at least I’ll have a box of pastries to show for my time.
He replies in the affirmative. The email, like all the emails he’s sent, is polite and formal, as though he’s dictating slowly to a recent secretarial school graduate.