That’s Not my Name

I know we all remember our first date or experience with an older man or woman. Mine isn’t very exciting to be honest.

He’s a restaurant owner here in town. Not gonna lie, the man is fuego. He goes to the gym I work at so we had seen each other around quite a bit.

I was out one day and saw he popped up as a suggested friend on my Instagram. I’m not one to ever make any first contact ever in like any way at all, including Instagram.
But, hey first time for everything.

I added him and the next day he messaged me.

He said:

“Hey there, good seeing you today in the gym (lol story of my life). We should hang out sometime and get coffee/lunch if you’re down.”

It really couldn’t have been easier.

I like easy.

So he gets my number and we start texting.
He asked me my favorite place in town and set up a date for lunch.

I was pretty excited. He was 30 at the time and I was 23, so I knew it was going to be different from the same boring younger guys I was wasting time with.

I got there right on time.

He ended up showing up 10 minutes late.

He sat down, breathing heavily saying something about a business call.

Immediately he dived in telling me all about his business, how he has to be an asshole to get things done in the business world and all these other things you’d expect from a guy who wants to show you how metaphorically big his dick is.

I mean, the man went on, and on, and on, and on, and on.

He even got as far as telling me that he only surrounds himself with ultra professional and successful people with the same mindset as him.

As soon as he ended that sentence, he asked me, “So, tell me about yourself.”


How on earth am I supposed to tell him about myself after all that?

I sat there for a split second trying to figure out if I should try and impress him with any of my credentials I had available to brag about as a post-grad OR if I should just say fuck it and not try to impress him.

So I went with the latter.

I told him I had just graduated and that I was still figuring out the direction I wanted to take things. I had plans, but I wasn’t fully there yet.

I think what he actually heard instead was, “I’m very successful but all I really want is a husband.”

The rest of the conversation contained subtle hints of how rich he is and what he’s looking for in a woman he’d like to spend the rest of his life with.

He even went as far to tell me how many hundreds of dollars he spent at a spa in Miami one weekend on a whim.

As I sat there thinking about my part-time job, I started feeling super subtle pressure from him.

He was giving all the vibes of a 30-year-old male who is feeling the pressure to settle down and get married.

I was conflicted.

Here I was usually dealing with guys my age who are not looking to get married any time soon, their parents pay for everything and they’re probably sleeping with several girls at once.

And this guy worked hard, was older and was dying to settle down.

As much as I would’ve loved to take the easy route, I couldn’t.

I know a lot of his qualities would’ve made any girl excited, but the only thing that was actually standing out to me was how inferior he made me feel.

All he could talk about was work. He had no interest in my hobbies, passions or dreams.

What he was really looking for was a trophy wife. Someone who said “Woowwww, amazing” every time he did anything.

And that is exactly what I don’t want.

I want to build things with someone not watch someone build things next to me.

I want a partnership.

I want someone to tell me “Wowww, amazing.” Just as much as I tell them.

So the lunch date was ending, and he asked to walk me to my car.

We get to my car and hugged goodbye. I was so relieved that it ended like that.

I turned around to get into my car when he grabs my hand, turns me around and says, “I’m sorry, I just can’t let you go like this.”

And HEAVILY makes out with me.

In broad daylight.

I awkwardly was like, “Haha, OK thanks for lunch!” and got in my car.

But wait, there’s more.

Some time goes by and I finally had the balls to tell him that I wasn’t looking for the same thing he was looking for.

He starts his message off super understanding, telling me not to worry and that he had a great time with me.

But at the end of the sentence he called me Sara.

My name is Paula.

And that motherfucker knows that but he just HAD to do something.

I wanted to say something but it was one of those slow clap moments. I had to let him take this one.

So now, we randomly see each other at the gym and he’ll say we need to catch up. I, in return, tell him yeahhhhhh with no set dates or plans.

It’s great.

So there you have it guys. Thirty year olds and Sara just don’t go together, I guess.


The Girl With a Heart on Her Middle Finger

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