2Bs, we’re so back. I know I said I had another date to chronicle from last week, so let’s pretend it’s still late Sunday night (daylight savings time threw me for a LOOP). Please allow me to cordially introduce you to my Date (#3): Petit Prince.
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important".
—Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince
I’m running much more than my usual 5 minutes late. I had to ditch my initial plan to subway to the East Side and now I was spending far too much money on a car. Price of a good cocktail, no?
The reason why I was so late was that while I had my jeans and a TTLS picked out in advance, an asymmetrical one, I was having a crisis about shoes. From his profile, this man stated he was my exact height at 5’9” so I didn’t know if I should tower over him in my usual boots or play it safe with flats. I finally decided, since it was a Tuesday (onHINGEd behaviour for real), I could be more casual and go with flats. Thank God I did because height is always 2BD.
Code Name: Petit Prince - Age: 27 (and 364 days, yes we out on his birthday eve, don’t even) - Occupation: Renewable Energy Investor/ Associate? Height listed on the app: 5’9” - **Height in reality: 5’8½”
Le Petit Prince
I’ve broken out into a sweat by the time my Uber pulls up to the East Village Mexican craft cocktail bar. There I was 20 minutes late like an asshole but a deeply apologetic one, pushing open the door.
Sensory overload. Music blaring, a pulsating blend of “beso” and “amor” weaving throughout the lyrics. It’s as if an eclectic speakeasy collided with the energy of a techno club, the result was a vibrant and crowded bar with orange hues and servers wearing oddly large nametags reminiscent of what the cast of Riverdale wore at their local diner. Very niche reference there, hope you understand.
I panic for a second, unable to locate my date. Where oh where is my sweet Petit Prince? I make an educated guess he’s the guy sitting by himself at a table for two, bingo. He’s getting up to say hello, I wave and start walking over. A few feet before I reach the table he opens his mouth to say something but I freeze in my footsteps—
He smiles. But it's like a record scratches, “EEEERRRCHHHH…”
Charcoal black. His teeth are stained charcoal black. 2Bs, I am no stranger to exaggeration but when I tell you it looked like this man's pearly whites had been terrorized by Captain Blackbeard himself, I am not kidding. They must have gone too crazy with the black salt in his drink and now— ah. I’m brought back to reality as he pulls me into a hug. B, you are an actor. ACT!
“So nice to meet you, I’m so sorry I’m late!”, I squeak out.
“No worries at all, I got a drink in the meantime” he points down to the black rimmed glass. Guilty as charged.
I give a forced laugh.
He continues, “it also gave me time to figure out the correct pronunciation of your name. I was getting mixed answers, but I decided to trust urban dictionary”. That’s always wise.
“Oh, okay let’s hear it then” I say, settling into the booth.
He butchers my name. I laugh for real this time before correcting him politely.
“Ah well that’s much prettier than what I said before.” Awww flattery will get you everywhere!!!
The Riverdale diner waitress comes over to take my drink order and I can’t even make eye contact with Petit Prince as he recommends his Blackbeard cocktail. I clear my throat and order a margarita. NO salt on the rim. I’m taking no risks.
“Oh I almost forgot!” Petit Prince is smiling again as he reaches under the table for a bouquet of tulips, my favorite. I can’t believe he remembered…but then again I can cause we had been messaging about it and I would’ve been disappointed if he didn’t follow through.
CONTEXT:
Petit Prince decided Valentine’s Day was a great launchpad to schedule a first date, messaging me asking if I received “the roses I sent you”. I said no, so we must reschedule the drop off. He smoothly offered “to hand deliver them in person next time”. I obliged and said I would like a say in what type of flower next time.
Good banter, good banter. I suggested a Sunday for the “ hand delivery,” and this man dares to respond a couple of days later with “Sunday came and went”. I did not appreciate that. At which point, Larry told me to hit him with a hardball.
2Bs feel free to USE and ABUSE this line because it is a BAR and works like a charm.
“Tomorrow” was a Tuesday, but after Monday night peking duck dinner consultation with Pheebs (you’ll remember her from Entry 1) and 2BD’s newest resident male consultant, Mamba (more on him later) we decided to give Petit Prince the greenlight.
That same night before the date I was delighted to receive this message.
I know nothing about flowers (if you’ll recall my reaction to Marshmallow’s plant infatuation a week prior). I just used to doodle tulips all the time in school, so it’s all I could think to say under pressure. The Eric Adams comment was hilarious though and I loved the lengths he was going to make it happen.
END OF CONTEXT.
Our waitress sets down my margarita as I was still admiring my tulips, they truly were lovely. But I could only look down for so long because Petit Prince wanted to “know more about me”. To be fair, he was handsome, had a great head of hair, and had great skin, as I pointed out earlier, but he seemed a bit confused fashion-wise. I could tell he just moved to Brooklyn, you know? The Doc Martens all but confirmed it, and then so did he, one drink later. Lastly, there was still the height factor— the short king thing— which I was trying not to make an inhibitor but I needed to try harder.
Tulips Courtesy of Petit Prince
Petit Prince was the oldest of the 3 men who I had been on dates with so far, and I could tell, through lack of pop culture knowledge and that he lived in an actual house he bought with siblings in Brooklyn, he seemed very settled. He was turning 28 at midnight after all. Crazy. However, contrary to this point, his favorite animated movie is Minions 4? Really? It had to be minions? He had no good defense to this answer and he didn’t know what Letterboxd was, so that was 2 strikes right there. Too harsh? I was now much at ease because I suspected he was a little nervous. I leaned forward and proudly told him that I made a very sexy Vector for Halloween a few years back, he loved that.
Another tell-tale of his age was when the couch question came up. You guys know the drill— I have a couch commercial tomorrow, what am I improvising about for thirty seconds, Petit Prince?
“Mmm” he contemplates the question and takes a sip of a new cocktail (thank God) washing away any trace of salt.
“Well, you could talk about your first memory on a couch…” he says, “…I know mine,” he continues, “…9/11”.
I gulp. Okay, dark sense of humor I guess? I ask for a few more ideas.
He clears his throat and suggests that I should go through all the crazy items you find wedged in between and underneath your couch. Okay maybe he was onto something…?
“Like you could find a condom wrapper or something”, he blurts. Ufff, there’s an idea. Is he drunker than me?
I’m relieved when the waitress brings us some more guacamole, he was kind enough to offer some food, and how could I say no? We had been at the bar for some time now and I was having fun, but couldn't place us on the scale of compatibility. I was more attracted to him physically than Marshmallow and Asperge, but I felt like we were on very different wavelengths career-wise, and he had been in NYC for so much longer, he didn’t have that hunger and curiosity that I did to explore, no fault of his own.
It was getting late and I was starting to get the sneaky suspicion that if we walked outside together, he may try and kiss me. I decided to call my Uber as I assembled my things and finished showing off my latest character in my wheel of accents and impressions. The nice thing about not knowing if you have a romantic connection is that you lose any inhibition, and I must have performed for him my full wheel of impressions. I feel like Petit Prince and I would’ve made great friends. That’s more than I could say about the other two so I would say it’s a steady positive progression and I’ll take that as a win.
When we stepped outside my Uber was only a minute away. This was reassuring since Petit Prince was almost exactly at eye level and I was avoiding eye contact. He was inching ever so close and right on queue “SCREEECH” there was my Uber!
I hugged goodbye to Petit Prince and sped off like Cinderella in my pumpkin orange Honda chariot, tulips in tow. We texted a bit on the way home and the following day it only felt right to wish him a Happy Birthday. At which point he said my audition tape for the couch commercial would be the perfect present. I said no. He followed up with an invitation to a dinner the following day hosted by the owner of his local wine shop, saying that he usually “doesn't ask for 2 dates in 1 week”. I was beyond flattered but had decided that the Mexican Riverdale Diner Bar was where our fairytale ended.
The condition of the tulips a few days after the date. Symbolic of our fate? Perhaps. Also, I think if there were a flower and plant protective service, I would be detained immediately.
We’ll talk soon, DATE 4 entry is in progress.
The next date? That’s 2B Determined.
:)
P.S. Making a mental note to use the Hinge opening line winner, an old friend, Williamsburg resident, and speed dating host (let’s call her, Chili Pep) told me to use. She always slid into a guy’s likes by commenting, “Hey Beautiful😍” on one of their photos. Sigh, Chili Pep is singlehandedly breaking these gender norms. Stay tuned to see how it goes. xoxo
I LOVE TULIPS