Alright, alright, alright. If you know that reference, it’s a subtle nod to the hometown of suitor #4. That’s right, 2Bs, a Southern boy for my fourth first date, and it was undeniably the best yet. 2 B FAIR it’s not necessarily a difficult feat given the first three but I’m happy to report it’s been an upward trajectory thus far.
My definitive date rankings in one word remarks:
Date #1: Ufff
Date #2: Meh
Date #3: Okay…?
Date #4: Ah💡
Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Dimples.
Code Name: Dimples - Age: 23 - Occupation: Investment Banking Analyst - Height listed on the app: 6’1” - **Height in reality: 6’1” (no lie there).
**because height is always 2BD.
Mr. Dimples (this rendering does not do the dimples justice unfortunately)
When I’m lying on my bed harmonizing (dreadfully) with Lana Del Rey on Starboy Interlude, it means the date went well. If you know me, you know that dating someone from the south of the United States is more foreign than dating an Australian or an Italian. So, let’s just say I was happily charmed.
But let’s rewind here to when Dimples and I first exchanged words on Hinge because this date almost didn’t make it out of the chat. Dimples has what I like to call an
“ICE-y” Hinge profile (RARE). Allow me to elaborate—
I = Independent. No overcrowded group photos with a pack of bros where you can’t tell who’s who, or awkward shots with an ex half-cropped out. Dimples had one or two photos with a single friend (who, thankfully, I wasn’t more attracted to — always a good test) and just enough to confirm he does, in fact, have friends.
C = Casual. No forced flexing with private jets, flashy watches, or even a prized pet (yes, I’ve seen pet birds on this app — terrifying). You want him to be laid-back… but also gainfully employed, you know?
E = Effortless. His photos are cool, and he doesn’t take himself too seriously. Dimples had a baby photo of himself in a Halloween costume and a meme of two chimpanzees hugging with the caption, “This could be us.” An ICE-y profile, indeed.
One of his prompts was also a sarcastic quip which I always love—
“Green flags I look for— ‘why can’t we print real money?’”
Looking over my shoulder, Larry chuckled as well and quickly responded for me with “Printer is ready to go”.
He went along with the bit for a few days — he’d bring the paper, I’d bring the ink… then I joked I’d have to resort to Monopoly money. You get the gist. Finally, I cut to the chase and asked, “When’s the drop-off?” a.k.a. When TF are you taking me out?? Unfortunately for me, by the time he asked what I was doing next weekend, I was heading to Mexico City for a bachelorette. Yes, my dear friend is getting married, and I’m out here writing a dating column — but to each their own. I was joking with her on the trip because she and her fiancé are moving to NYC after the wedding. I told her, “Oh, how perfect! Now I can come over for dinner and pregame my next Hinge date with you and your husband.” Go figure.
Anyways, when I got back from Mexico, I reached out to all my dwindling Hinge chats to try and reignite the flame. Dimples was in that pool. I messaged him that I had returned and demanded my printer! He was sassy and said he couldn’t wait for me, so he’d been using it. I said, “How are you going to make up for your selfish actions?” He replied, “How are you going to make up for your tardiness?” Touché, Dimples.
The banter was there, but it was a different banter than with Petit Prince, this felt more… charged. I was also beginning to realize how important good banter is leading up to a date. Doesn’t have to be long but you have to match each other’s energy. That’s exactly what he was doing. I soon gave him my number and we arranged drinks for that Friday night if he could “get off work”. Typical of anyone in finance in NYC, I knew that meant crazy, unpredictable hours — two of my closest friends have similar jobs, and it’s like trying to catch the leprechaun at the end of the rainbow to see them (you know who you are).
He tells me to meet him at a cozy wine bar in Greenwich Village at 9:30 pm. It’s a bit late, but at least he finished work. The getting-ready process never gets old, and my favorite TTLS — the keyhole one from my date with Marshmallow — was finally clean, fresh out of the laundry, so my uniform was on. Some nerves crept up as I got into the car (I was running 10 minutes late — this better not become a habit). I was anxious because this was the first ICE-y profile I was going on a date with. All the others had at least one photo that made me go, ehh, questionable, but Dimples? He had his down. Oh, shit — there he was.
As the Uber pulled up to the bar, I saw only one tall figure standing outside. It had to be him. How long had he been there? It threw me off because, you know, I love to write “there I was, pushing open the door” — but there was no door to push. Just Dimples, standing there, as I stepped out of the car and our eyes met.
Uh Oh, there it was for the first time thus far, plain and good old-fashioned—
attraction.
He held the door open for me as I stepped into the bar, but it also felt like a restaurant. It was simple and elegant and very… French. He had made a reservation, solid, and we were led to a corner table in the very back. As he took off his coat, his shirt did little to hide his toned chest, it wasn’t a tight black tee à la Asperge but it did wonders for his biceps. Focus B. Avert your eyes. He must have played a sport in college. I love an athlete… I’ll find out.
Dimples had a quiet confidence I picked up on immediately, and I felt oddly at ease as we started talking. I did wonder for a moment if the banter from our messages would translate face-to-face — he had a very finance bro vibe — time will tell.
After a few minutes of chatting and realizing our universities were quite similar (just geographically far apart), the waiter came over to take our wine order. Dimples subtly motioned for me to take the lead, saying, “I’ll have what she’s having — you know wine better than me.” Point taken. I was ordering two glasses of syrah when he asked if I’d like to get a bottle. I tried to hide my smile, looking down at the menu. “That sounds great,” I responded, the waiter obliged and swiftly left us, did he see the dollar signs flash through my eyes? Kidding. I’m kidding, of course. (🤑)
Anyway! The wine was flowing, and I was starting to get to know Dimples better. Every time I learned something new about him and made a witty comment, I’d get a flash of those dimples and a little glance off to the right — highly amusing.
For example:
He tells me he’s the middle child (bonus: he has a sister, which is always a good sign). I reply, “You’re absolutely your mom’s favorite.” Dimples activated. No denial.
He mentions he played lacrosse in college (hence the chest). I quip sarcastically, “Oh, I know so much about lacrosse.” Dimples activated again.
Finally, I tell him I like his dimples (a rare compliment from 2BD). Dimples activate — times a hundred.
I’m having fun — so much fun that two hours have flown by, and we’re getting kicked out of the restaurant. There’s this feeling I get on a date that I like to call 2BC: to be continued. It’s that moment when you know you’re not going home together, but you’re also not ready for the night to end. Dimples and I reached that 2BC point… but where to next? 2B Determined.
Let’s just run through the rest of the night after we left the bar, because we were all over the place and I’ll hit the notable moments.
11:40 Departure heading towards the West Village.
11:50 My bar suggestion fails, it’s way too crowded. He’s poking fun at how “directionally challenged I am. It’s actually bad.
11:55 His suggestion has a line out the door, but he has a backup plan, he wants to play pool with me. I say brace yourself, his dimples show. Cute. Ew.
12:05 We are at the sports bar with 22 people ahead of us at the pool tables, we laugh and get ciders. We resort to leaning on a wall to observe other couples, it’s like that scene in Date Night where Tina Fey and Steve Carell are playing the same game. Dimples is good at it. So am I.
12:45 We head to my redeeming bar suggestion, it never misses. We get seats at the bar. He puts his hand on my back as he asks me what I want to drink. I swallow a grin. “Mmm, I’m not sure yet to be honest” I say. “Alright then” he says, handing me his credit card, “…don’t go crazy” before turning around to go to the bathroom. What the?? Did he just? I— Hot. That was 🥵, perhaps I need a frozen marg to cool down. Chill B, get a fucking G&T and calm down.
2:00 We leave that bar and start walking towards one more bar, but this bar is one of those “Spaniard” types that is packed like sardines. But it was probably one of the only places open and I guess you make sacrifices when the date is 2BC.
2:05 His go-to order all night has been tequila and water. Not soda, not tonic, water. I find this crazy because at this point I’m way more than tipsy and he seems completely fine. I decide it’s a good time to ask the couch audition question and there are the dimples again. He said I should make it about an unexpected visitor who needed to crash for the night and photobomb the audition. Best idea yet.
3:00 He has walked me all the way home in his paper thin jacket like a gentleman and doesn’t try to kiss me. He could’ve.
The morning after a first date you think went well is always nerve-wracking until you hear from them. I guess you could say I had TEXTpectations. On top of that, I was battling a bad case of hangxiety, wondering if he had as much fun as I did. It hit me that if he didn’t, I might be on the receiving end of the kind of ghost or “not interested” message I’ve sent before. Thankfully, around 2 PM the next day, I found out that wasn’t the case.
The next date with Dimples? Well, looks like that’s 2 Been Determined.
:)
*NOTE: All future dates pertaining to Mr. Dimples will be labelled under “Entry 4” and date number accordingly.
got me kicking my feet giggling
OBSESSED