Speed Racer

Between the tortoise and the hare, I have always secretly identified with the tortoise. First, turtles are cute with their ambling gait and often artsy green features. Second, they are tough and resilient with their hard shells. Third, they are smart and know when to just slow down and take things easy. This last point is one that I sorely wish more daters would take –especially men who happen to live in Manhattan.

I know, I know, this city is fast and crazy and the speed of it all can make you dizzy. I suppose this is why I crave quiet and stability as much as I crave a good martini. One thing that irks to me to no end though is the men out there who treat dating (and everything that goes along with it) like one great race. When I meet a speed racing boy, I can’t help but wonder – What’s the hurry? Why the rush? And, can’t we just slow down?

Tom seemed like a sweet guy through e-mail and by phone. We had been exchanging witty e-mails for a couple of weeks and had had a couple of phone conversations that included laughter. So, I was eager to meet him. He suggested drinks after work, which seemed perfect – enough time to get to know each other but not too long just in case we didn’t click. Then, with our drink date set for the following week, Tom changed course and asked about meeting over the weekend for dinner and a movie.

In datespeak, the dinner and movie combo is a real date that would have us spending hours together. Hmmmm, if we didn’t click we would be stuck together for a stretch of agonizing time that would have me running lists in my head of all of the things that I would rather be doing – cleaning the bathroom (which I detest), brushing my dog (who likes to ‘play’ bite me with each stroke), reading The Corrections (which has been a doorstop in my place for many years). With this in mind, I gently let Tom know that I already had plans for the weekend but that drinks still sounded good. And yes, this was a smart decision because we didn’t really click over drinks.

Barry and I had a super time on first date (mojitos in a funky little bar). He was cute, funny, and came across quite dashing with his British accent (yes, accents can be intriguing). When he suggested steak and wine for our second date, I found myself looking forward to getting to know him better and to having a yummy rib eye to boot.

As snow rapidly fell the night of date two, I would not be deterred and arrived a few minutes late and wet to the bone. Wine helped warm me up and soon he was charming me with tales of growing up in England. He didn’t have anything planned beyond dinner so afterwards we just kept moving from place to place for drinks to keep warm. I found it odd that he kept asking me where to go next but liked the idea of braving the night with him.

Eventually, after about six hours together, the weather had worn me out and I was ready to call it a night. As we stood in the snowy street trying to hail a cab for me, Barry boldly told me that he would like to come home with me. Excuse me? We had shared a rather chaste kiss at the end of our first date and hadn’t broached any big topics, so his directness had me reeling. I politely let him know that this wasn’t really my style and that was the end of Barry.

I have to say that I’m not a fan of rushing to the finish line – any finish line. Call me old fashioned, but I quite like the idea of just having good conversations and getting to know someone. I suppose that this goes against the grain in our very fast-paced, over-teched world. Despite this, I will embrace the turtle in me and just try to remember that slow and steady wins the race in the end.