If Your Gut Says You're Dating Mr. Wrong, You Are.

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BY JENNIFER SILVERMAN

ADMIT IT, YOU'RE DATING MR. WRONG...

Recently, I embarked on what some folks might consider, a date. Well, at least I think it was a date. I’m still not sure.

It all began about a year ago when I dipped a toe in the digital dating pool and met a nice fella on an app.

We went on a handful of dates until it dawned on me that I didn’t want to date. So, I stopped dating.

A short time ago, the same gent reemerged, and I agreed to another get-together.

I’d like to declare that I was bravely subjecting myself to a growth-inducing situation. Alas, that’s not exactly the case.

Per usual, I was immersed in a “things happen for a reason” mindset. I couldn’t risk declining the invite, only to potentially throw a wrench into destiny’s algorithm. (It made perfect sense at the time.)

I showed up to the maybe-date with an open mind and a good time was had by all.

Afterwards, when he suggested going out again, I accepted.

That’s when things got interesting.

In today’s dating landscape, banter via text message is a thing. In between dates, the apparent expectation is that parties engage in regular text convos, demonstrating their wittiness, intellect, and desire to get to know one another.

Mr. Dating App opted for a unique approach. Rather than digging into lifestyle, personality, or goals, he went for whacky.

Throughout the week, he posed a variety of unusual inquiries.

He suggested I rank favorite weekdays, informed me that my choice of French fry dipping sauce was flawed, and implored me to identify the most sarcastic creature in the animal kingdom.

I gave the dude props for creativity, but I was not amused.

I love quirky convos more than most. However, totally irrelevant, aimless chatter is not my jam, nor is it a good use of my time.

Then, came the kicker.

He insisted that he knew something about me for which I was utterly unaware and went on to supply what appeared to be an excerpt from a corporate performance review.

His text affirmed “my” critical thinking skills, aptitude for navigating “paradox”, and tendency to be underestimated.

Maybe some ladies might be flattered by his remarks? I, however, was miffed.

For one thing, I didn’t believe his backhanded words were really about me.

Secondly, I didn’t believe they were his words.

Furthermore, during our brief interactions, when could he possibly have made observations such as these? In the car? At a restaurant? I don’t think so.

When I suggested his text resembled verbiage from a formal performance review, he didn’t deny it. Instead, he commented that there’s a lot more to me than I let on.

I have a hunch he thought his statements were gush-worthy.

He was mistaken.

Demeaning and a discredit to my self-awareness is more like it.  

Could I have been candid and given him feedback about the impact of his words? Sure.

Did I? Nope.

It’s not my job to school an adult on sincerity and respect. Plus, these days, the biggest red flag in my book is inauthenticity.

Thus, I politely cancelled the forthcoming date with Mr. Wrong and wished him well.

In general, life is a confusing pursuit.

There are mountains of minutia we may never understand: Why do fools fall in love? How come Touched by an Angel wrapped after a mere 211 episodes? What’s up with the greeting, “How do you do?” fading into oblivion?

Likewise, dating is one of life’s epic headscratchers.

It certainly appears that I have not yet figured out how to pick them.

It does, however, look like I’ve made inroads in the not tolerating smoke-blowing department.

So, what’s the moral of this dating story?

Mr. Dating App’s commentary may have shown me who he is, but he doesn’t get to tell me who I am.

Also, just don’t put down someone else’s choice of French fry condiments. Really, it’s not cool.     

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