There are many stages of heartbreak. Three months deep into my break-up , I have experienced almost all of them. This is also the phase when you begin the dreaded coital dance known as dating. When I woke up from that nap, I downloaded Tinder. But eventually, I matched with a handsome enough something who was OK with skipping the small talk. But an hour later, walking into the specified bar in the West Village, I immediately understood why people take the time to screen each other via text.
Tinder guy turned out to be two of my worst fears combined: a short actor. As is common with short actors, this guy was very fond of himself, and within minutes he was playing aloud a recording of himself singing a song from his upcoming off-Broadway show. As I politely smiled and nodded along to the balladβa duet!
Next, naturally, he asked me if I was into threesomes. It was when he attempted to grind with me to a Lana Del Rey techno remix that I finally made my escape. Their brains literally go haywire, and they begin spewing out insults in a desperate attempt to rebuild their fragile egos.
A couple nights later, I went to a dinner party on the Upper East Side. I wore a slinky silk dress and intentionally went to the party alone, to force myself to mingle. I ended up in a long conversation with an older, seemingly earlys cardiologist. He was wearing high-waisted khakis and had overgrown nose hairs, but he was really sweet, and was becoming funnier with every sip of punch I took.
Primed by my screening of Nympho, I was eager for an atypical experience, so I agreed to go back to his apartment. I was looking for an experience, but this was the wrong one. Once the doctor took his clothes off, he looked way older than 50βhe may have been pushing The thing about older men is, they rarely look good.
