Has anybody ever walked up to you, and waved, and you know for sure that you know them, but for the first minute you're not 100% sure why? That was this Grindr date. I'm waiting for him, specifically, and it still takes me a minute to recognize him.
I mean, I think it's good etiquette to have a photo less than a month old on there; at the least it should match your current hair style. This guys profile pic was at least a year old, and it had been a heck of a year.
The look on his face as he quietly says "hi"is a sheepish grin, the only thing in common with his profile pic. The look on mine, I'm sure, is shock, which I try to hide because it's immediately clear why he hasn't updated his pic in a year. He's put on 60 lbs since it was taken.
My fantasies have come to life. Sometimes I'll get onto Grindr and Scruff and imagine what all those headless torsos and skinny boys would like like with some extra meat. In front of me is a Grindr boy that did just that. His face is round, his belly sticks out even though he clearly intentionally wore his loosest clothing; his untucked button down shirt hangs an inch or two in front of his pants, and I just want to reach up underneath to touch the belly supporting it. His pants are too tight in so many of the right places. His chestnut brown hair is a little longer, cuter and mussed up clearly from recent fidgeting.
Too much time passes without me saying anything. My heart's beating wildly, my blood is all headed south, and the scotch and my impossible fantasies having come true have left me speechless; but that's clearly not what he's reading from my expression. His grin is fading and the fear it was covering up are showing themselves. He doesn't apologize for the lateness; a growing quiver in his lip makes me think he's not sure what would come out if he opened his mouth. I manage a "Hey" but it doesn't stop the turning tide. He's clearly been working up the courage to come in and say hi, and it occurs to me that's probably why he was so late. As he takes a step back, almost trembling, I put a hand on his shoulder gently and say "I think we can still get a table."
His fear recedes, at least a little, and I wave to the hostess. There was a lull earlier, and she and I had a 5 minute conversation when he was 10 minutes late, and she actually persuaded me to wait for him. She led us to a booth in the corner, normally meant for 4. She sat us down, gave us menus and the usual speeches, and as she walked away, she mouthed "told ya."
He still looks flustered, and buries his head in his menu. I decide to...
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