Once upon a time, I walked into a bar on the Upper West Side to meet one of my J-day-tay dates (or what you might know as JDate). I was looking forward to meeting this very tall, very handsome stranger. He was from Kentucky, and Jewish. Over the phone, he had a southern twang of some kind. Or so I thought. More on that twang later.
As I made my way through the bar, I saw him sitting at a table that was placed awkwardly close to another table, with two women sitting at it.
These two girls are going to love listening to our first date unfold, I thought as I approached.
But, he was handsome. Five-star handsome. He looked just like his pictures, which is not always common. We were off to a good start.
“Hi! Andy? Darcy.” I extended my hand.
“Well hello Darcy!,” he said as he pulled me in for a hug.
He was the gayest man I’ve ever met.
Well, maybe not as gay as the date who took me to the Indigo Girls concert and held my hand and wanted to skip.
I turned green. That twang wasn’t just southern, it was downright RuPaul.
I glanced at the two girls at the next table, and they glanced back at me. There was something in their look, an awkward disbelief, that I knew I was not alone in thinking this.
I dreaded sitting down and cursed myself for having to play along with his charade. As I always say, I love a gay man. But, if you want to play for my team, you have to wear my uniform. And my uniform doesn’t involve a beard of any kind. Continue reading 'My Hot Date Didn’t Look So Good Upon Further Inspection'»