The text from Emily read: Look at this.
I waited for my phone to receive the hilarity of the moment. It had become a habit – exchanging amusing tidbits from online dating life with Emily. What thinly-disguised misogyny was working its way into our lives today?
The image finally arrived; it was the screenshot of back-and-forth messaging between Emily and a recent match. His ego was out. I cringed at his messages, which were awkward and verging on disrespectful. I asked Emily to show me his profile, as I could only see a thumb-sized picture and no bio.
I shrieked when I saw Tyler’s face fill my iPhone screen. And I called Emily immediately.
“What?” she asked, in response to the laughter. “What’s going on?”
“I dated him!” I replied. “I swear to you; I dated him.”
Indeed, I knew Tyler from my Seattle days. I met him during the dark Northwest winter of my second year of graduate school. He cooked me quinoa with curry powder and told me stories of his charitable endeavors. I realized I wasn’t feeling a connection after our third date at Morsel (best biscuits in the city!), and I tried to tell him before my long weekend out of town. Tyler told me to take some more time before coming to a decision and then stated that he expected the verdict via telephone – not text – over the weekend. I couldn’t decide whether I was impressed by his valiant ask or turned off by his two forceful demands.
In the end, I respected his wishes. Three days later, sitting on my childhood bedroom floor with my back against the wall, I called him up to confirm that I still was not feeling a romantic connection between us. I hadn’t changed my mind.
“Okay,” he said, and we hung up the phone.
