Call Me Janice Sometimes, not often enough but sometimes, a first date goes very well. You know what I mean, a date that starts off on the right foot and hits all the right notes from beginning to end. There's a certain sparkle in his eyes when you arrive. The conversation over dinner flows easily. He laughs in all the right places.When you look over and smile at him, he meets your gaze and smiles back. There's a promise of something more to come hanging in the air. You feel charming and witty and wonderful. It's all so perfect that, as the evening draws to a close, you don't hesitate to ask about seeing him a second time. You know he's enjoyed himself as much as you and you're absolutely positively sure he'll say yes to another date.
Except he doesn't.
Meet V. In many ways, V is your typical New York gay urban professional. He's attractive, well spoken and doing very well for himself at his corporate gig. He's also rather atypical in many ways: proud of his small-town roots and very upfront about his desire to one day settle down into a long-term relationship and adopt children.
The conversation during our dinner isn't just breezy, it soars. Topics range from family to books to Sunday's New York Times to Desperate Housewives to favorite landmark buildings to vacation stories and everything in between. He's funny, observant and seems as interested as he is interesting. It doesn't seem possible that almost two hours has gone by when the waiter presents the check and we prepare to part ways. It's then that I ask to see him again and am caught off-guard by his hesitation. "Well," he says. "The thing is...I'm moving."
Huh? Moving had not been mentioned at all during dinner. I didn't recall him saying anything to even hint that he was planning a move. So I ask, "Where?" And he answers "California." So I ask "When?" And he answers...
"Tomorrow."
I'm not sure how to feel at this quick turn of events. Men are apparently fleeing cross-country for the sole reason of not dating me. I feel somewhat victimized and join in solidarity with others who have been blindsided by the men in their lives. Suddenly, I am Senator Larry Craig's wife whenever he mentions needing to use the restroom. I am Dina Matos McGreevey standing in front of the cameras as the world learns she went and married a gay guy. I am Hillary Clinton every time someone points and says "You have a stain on your dress." I am Meg Ryan as she hears "Really, that's enough" from her beloved plastic surgeon.
It takes a few moments but eventually confusion turns to wonder. Who does this? Who goes out on a date when he's moving across the country the next day? And why does this scenario sound vaguely familiar? Wait, I thought, wasn't this an episode of Friends? Didn't Chandler once, to avoid having a relationship, pretend he was moving to Yemen the next day? And now, if you replace Chandler with V and replace Yemen with California then, in this scenario that would make me...Oh. My. God.
I am not Mrs.Larry Craig after all. I am not Dina Matos McGreevey or Meg Ryan's pumped up lips. I'm Janice. She of the leopard print spandex and nasally high pitched cackle. I am the character that Chandler dumped over and over again, season after season, only now in a gay man's body. I have to wonder how many other men in their desperation to avoid me, may have fled not only to the Pacific, but possibly leapt into it. It doesn't do a lot for the ego, trust me.
In truth, V wasn't actually moving the following day. He was headed to California in the morning for what could've turned out to be a temporary stay or developed into a permanent one. Either way he was due back in New York in about 3 weeks, either to stay put after all or to pack his things. He wasn't actually sure at the time so, for whatever his reasons, he hadn't mentioned it.
I have no idea if V is still in New York or if he did up and move to California. I never heard from him again after our one date. About 3 months later I met my partner who, I'm very glad to say, has yet to run off to the airport and book a flight for the west coast. And there haven't been any more moments of being Dina or Meg or even Janice. Now I get to simply be Tom, which suits me just fine.
I have no idea if V is still in New York or if he did up and move to California. I never heard from him again after our one date. About 3 months later I met my partner who, I'm very glad to say, has yet to run off to the airport and book a flight for the west coast. And there haven't been any more moments of being Dina or Meg or even Janice. Now I get to simply be Tom, which suits me just fine.
