How Glo Got Her Groove Back VI – another day, another Tinder date? Well, not quite…

Sunday morning. 10:30am. Sheesh, whose dumb idea was it to meet for coffee on a Sunday at this insane hour of the morning anyway? I should be in bed right now! Oh, wait, my dumb idea. Sigh. Come on down Tinder ‘contestant’ number 10, date number too-many-dates-lost-count-now. I am officially a Tinder dating ninja. I can date with my eyes shut now. No biggie…another day, another (couple of) Tinder date(s) 🙂

So, before we met that morning, I’d already established that this guy was not at all daunted or intimidated by me, my appearance, my brains, my cheekiness, or my career history. He was in a pretty full-on and demanding role in business himself, which is how we’d started trading war stories from the trenches of Planet Corporate via messenger. And he seemed genuinely interested, and encouraging, and even – dare I say it – impressed.

Gasp. Well, this was new. A man who I didn’t feel I had to ‘dumb down’ for so he’d be comfortable with me and wouldn’t judge me or label me as a ‘career woman’ or feel intimidated by me?

So on that count alone, he was different even before I met him. But even then, I can’t say I’d expected him to be any different from the other Really Nice Guys who made up my Tinder Family on my phone.

Waiting. I’m early. A little bit. In walks this guy. He’s right on time.   Good for him because I have another Tinder date with contestant number 11 after this. Chop chop petal.

Same face as on Tinder. Salt and pepper hair. Nice smile. Sweet smile. Gosh, such a sweet smile. Handsome. Tall. Taller than I’d expected. I’m 5’10”. He’s at least 3 inches taller than me. I like tall. Not swooning on the inside at all. Oh alright then, yes, I am completely swooning like a crushy schoolgirl on the inside already, OK? Keeping my composure quite nicely though I think. I do a great poker face, fine-tuned after years at negotiating tables the world over. He’d never guess. Nobody is swooning here today, honest. I’m cool. I’m good. All good. Aaall good.

I get up, we trade social kisses on the cheek in greeting, he asks me what I’d like to drink. Long black please. Evidently a woman drinking long blacks is unusual. He drinks them too. We discover that we both hate mornings and have surprised ourselves being out this early on a weekend. We agree that weekend mornings are for sloth. That is all. He’s so relaxed. So easy to talk to. And he seems to be easily matching my smart-mouthed cheekiness. No mean feat. It’s so nice to meet someone who’s chilled and not the least bit anxious on a date.

Within the first hour, we discover that we have some surprisingly unusual things in common, in our respective backgrounds and upbringings. Not superficial things – quite significant things. Things that not everyone has in their ‘life logbook’ of experiences.

So I’m sitting across a table from this man who for all intents and purposes looks like just another coffee-drinking brunch-doing comfortable-living good-looking city-fringe urbanite. In fact, to the untrained eye, we both probably look like a couple of coffee-drinking brunch-doing comfortable-living good-looking city-fringe urbanites. To anyone who might just judge by appearances.

But it’s clear there is much more to this man than meets the eye.   There is an openness about him that is disarming and engaging in the most beautifully guileless way. He shared, and he made it safe for me to share. No one has ever done that before. We’ve just exchanged war stories on something that is not superficial. Our common backgrounds were not benign – they were challenging and potentially extremely harmful.

And, without saying it, we know. Those things could have destroyed us but we didn’t let them. We’ve both had to fight hard to push past those things to the point where we are able to be café-lolling on a sunny Sunday morning as a couple of pretty convincing coffee-drinking brunch-doing comfortable-living good-looking city-fringe urbanites.

But we can both see it. That there is much more to the person across the table than that.

Click. Connect.

Oh, my. What just happened?

I have totally forgotten about contestant number 11. Contestant number 11 who?

This guy just got a whole lot more interesting.

Well, this was going to be a different Tinder date…

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