Fake dating

Being single and having not been paid in two months has not stopped me from dating. Unfortunately, it is not the kind of dating you would presume a hip and happening gal would be doing: no kissing, awkward pauses, or hoochie outfits. This past week I went on two such outings.

On Thursday night, I went out with H. He is pleasant upstanding (in all ways, I mean he even has excellent posture) fellow with a laid back attitude. I wore a skirt, he wore a blazer and to any unsuspecting bystander we looked like a typical yuppie couple. We met at 7:30 and has a pleasant stroll in the cool August night to the South end. Our waiter seated us at a window table for two illuminated only by the tealight in the glass votive. H ordered a bottle of wine and we sipped it as our meal trickled to our table. Talking with H is always a blast. He has the kind of dry voice that can make a story funny, which is why I am sparing you all the details because they lose their zest in any retelling. When our tealight burned out, we realized it was time to go home. 11: 15 pm we had been chatting and giggling for almost 4 hours straight. We strolled back and watched all the real yuppies gathering for the Thursday night mating call. But we had our fake date, were done for the night, and parted ways.

While going out with H is a very rare event, my friend D and I have date night every other month, normally when his boyfriend is otherwise occupied. D and I used work in the same lab so many of our conversations cover old times or advances in sciences, subjects often found distasteful to others. The nice thing about going out with D is that he will tell you exactly what he wants. On Saturday, I got to choose the restaurant with D's only criteria that we had to dress "smart casual." I wore dark jeans with high heels; D wore a lacoste shirt. Once again to the unknowing eye, a handsome yuppie couple. D picked me up at around 8pm. We went to a hip restaurant in Jamaica Plain with red walls, funky picture lampshades, and hipster wait staff. A bottle of wine, excellent comfort food, and lots of laughter were the elements of the evening. Sometimes hanging out with friends results in entertainment and a valued therapy session all rolled into one. We moved date to a local Irish pub. This pub had once been a favorite of mine, but apparently got refurbished over the summer and the new sleek black tables and formica walls were designer don'ts. D and I were gossiping, when a reggae band walked in the door. The music was loud and the crowd odd and we kept seeing this one white girl with cornrows pacing back and forth. We sat outside on the steps of a church, enjoying the night air for a little while before heading home.

While I understand real dating is a necessary evil, I find it such an inferior experience to my fake dating. I hate the weird small talk, constantly monitoring my body language, constantly monitoring his, and the tango of guarded feelings. With my friends, I share intimate conversations, genuine laughter, and my emotions no matter how dramatic they may be. Who knows maybe one I'll go on a real date as good as my fake ones. I have my fingers crossed.