Mr. Unavailable #124: Quebecois Cub

Vital Stats: 5’5"-7”. “Cub” is a bit of a stretch because he was 35. In the insurance business, he’s the guy who creates new combinations of insurance or “products” (like butter or hot dogs) Aesthetic: Eurohip Yuppie. Demeanor: Intelligent, jocular, liked to tease.

First Date: Sugar Sweet Sunshine bakery on Rivington on the Lower East Side.

First Impression: It was the Great Five-Day Downpour of 2011, so when I walked up to the cupcake shop, he was standing under the awning with an umbrella. I towered over him by about two inches, which meant that he was likely not the 5’7” his profile said but, more likely, 5’5”.

After a European two-cheek kiss, we walked into the bakery and, although I was somewhat disappointed by his stature, he seemed pleasantly surprised by mine. He couldn’t stop smiling and talking and, after about five minutes of standing in front of the counter not ordering because he was so busy looking at me and talking, I cut in and said, “What should we get?” He got a red velvet cupcake and I got a peanut butter and jelly one. We sat down and I could see he was going to make his cupcake last. It was fine. He was nice enough and smart enough, so it wasn’t necessary to flee.

We talked about traveling and insurance and sugar. He told me about a 12-course dinner he had in a sugar shack on his way back from a business trip in Canada. All the courses included some variety of all-natural sweetener, and he recounted each one. At least we had a love of sweets in common. And, seeing as I was about to start a job at an insurance company the next week, we had insurance in common. I’d talked to Evan the night before at Naked Angels and he said that I needed to get #120 off my mind (after the cake date from the day before, he was still in there).

“You should just shag [#124] no matter what,” he said. “Even if you don’t like him. In fact, it’s probably better if you don’t like him.”

But I couldn’t do it. The messages he sent me before we met had hints of sexual innuendo, such as, “If you cross the line you might deserve a spanking.” But they did nothing for me. In fact, when his messages popped up on my phone, I’d read them and roll my eyes.

So, back to the date. He was cute, funny and smart, talking about Quebec politics and countries in Europe, both of which are infrequent conversational topics in the U.S. dating scene. Finally, the lady behind the counter said they were closing. We’d long since finished our cupcakes, but he was still clearly in no hurry to go. Then the lady behind the counter told us they were closing with a bit more insistence (bless her) and we went. Once outside, he asked if I wanted to go somewhere for a glass of wine. I said I was tired and had to go home and then pointed east saying, “I’m headed that way. Which way are you going?” He was going in the other direction, to his car. “Where do you live?” I asked.

“Mt. Vernon,” he said.

That was a shocker. His profile said he lived in Brooklyn.

I gave him an awkward hug under our awkwardly bumping umbrellas, waved good-bye and walked away.

Signs of Hope: He was a good conversationalist, which is no small thing.

Red Flags: All the eye-rolling I was doing before the date. Plus, that he lied about 1. His height and 2. Where he lived.

Turning Point: At the bakery when I realized I had to slouch in order to look him in the eye.

Diagnosis: For him: Maybe he was just looking for a one-night stand. And maybe the women on the site are usually game. To bad for him I wasn’t.
For me: I realized that cougar online dating is just like regular online dating and that I’m not really into younger men. I mean, I went on a “cougar” date with a guy who was only three years my junior. The 25-year-old was an anomaly. He wasn’t the start of a new pattern, he was an aberration from the old one.