Jury’s-No-Longer-Out

I went on another date with Jury’s-No-Longer-Out and, well, the name says it all.

We met for a comedy show at a bar in Chelsea. I got there early and ordered a glass of wine and settled in. We hadn’t planned on dinner – actually, I did mention it because the show was at 8pm on a weeknight, when I would have been eating dinner so he proposed getting a slice of pizza after the show which I was lukewarm on given that I’m quasi-South-Beaching – but I started looking at the tapas menu because I was starving.

Jury’s-No-Longer-Out arrived and one of the things that I like and at the same time don’t like is how easily affectionate he is. It takes me a little while to warm up to someone – particularly someone who instantly warms up to me – and I just wasn’t into it with him. I did hold his hand but that was where I was drawing the line.

We got our seat at a table – was a cabaret venue – and ordered more wine and tapas. The show was fun but not amazing. And we talked between performances. He asked me about my week, I talked about my week… I asked him about his week and he said, “well, it’s been a rough one. I had to put my cat down today.”

Sigh. I’m not a cat fan…

But I can empathize with losing a pet so I offered my condolences and invited him to tell me about the cat and the story about the cat’s illness, which was extensive. Jury’s-No-Longer-Out was very attached to this cat and even though he said we was really sad about the whole thing, he didn’t seem all that sad and the whole experience felt kinda awkward.

OK, at this point in the evening, it occurs to me that he looks like Jon Favreau and that’s now really distracting.

We leave the show and now have to deal with getting home. He lives in a different part of the city than me and is going to take a cab home. My subway is right next to us and that’s where I’m headed. So, we’re at the subway entrance where we’re going to part and he kisses me goodnight. Still kissing… Still kissing… STILL kissing… Now I’m feeling uncomfortable. I’m not frigid or a prude but I don’t care for making out on a street corner, or in public in general. It’s just not me. And I just said that. “OK, this isn’t me.” And Jury’s-No-Longer-Out’s not quite getting it. I said it again and this time it sinks in.

I get on the train, head home, and that’s that.