A 3.5 out of 10

I was sinking fast and needed a way out. A week ago things had gone from good to bad and I thought it was time to start rebounding. The problem with that theory was that I chose to look backwards rather than forwards. I opened the rolodex and thought of someone I had liked but knew would never be more than a like. It seemed like the perfect temporary solution. We had fun back in the day and ended on decent enough terms – a mutual ghosting of conversation and meetings. Nothing was sour at all. It just ended. But I was feeling low and I had this feeling that if I came a calling she would respond. It took an hour after the initial lame entry text, but after receiving the always ominous “who is this” reply, we settled into some pleasantries before deciding to meet up the next day. I had it. The road was paved and all I had to do was show up before the rebounding would commence in earnest.

We decided to meet around Union Square which was pretty dumb considering that I would have to search for her in the midst of a winding holiday market, but she’s a fan of simplicity and minimalism so I found her quickly at the edge bundled up and smiling. Just like that we started downtown, talking and catching up. We made sure to hit on all the major points – Halloween, the election, Thanksgiving, her birthday, and so on and so forth. I was even able to sneak in some remininsces as we passed by Washington Square Park. The night was going as well as it could be and I decided to crank up the nostalgia factor by taking her back to Pianos, which is for some reason is my go to date place. Why I go there is a mystery. The place is always jammed packed, the upstairs has a cover, the drinks are pricey and small, and the entry hand marker takes at least two days to wash away. But for some reason I am a loyal customer. Go figure. Anyway we head over and start downing some drinks. The conversation is going fairly well, we’re laughing and joking at what seems to be an even pace. I’m my usual “charming” self and she’s the same. I like what’s happening. We’re a few drinks in when for some reason we start talking about dates and such and she mentions she likes to rate guys and how her friends think it’s weird. I say not at all we all judged people, I mean we met on Bumble. She laughed and agreed. I playfully asked what my ranking was and she told me I was a 3.5 and that it wasn’t out of five.

A 3.5 out of a whole ten. So specific and so low like Jesus what was happening. She was surprised I didn’t agree with her assessment of the night. I said you’ve been laughing at everything I’ve been saying. Apparently I was wrong on that front. She had been laughing at her reaction to my jokes and stories. Nobody has been able to tell me what that means. I couldn’t get over that. A 3.5, talk about an ego blow. The only thing worse was a half hearted attempt at consoling me with the revelation that I started at a mediocre 6. I must have been on some sort of roll to take a 2.5 point drop on her scale of gentlemanly likability in a matter of an hour and a half. She said I was a lot higher back in the day but what I had perceived as a mutual ghosting had in actuality dropped me way, way down. That’s fair I thought, but you also never called me back. I contended it was mutual and she agreed but that I still had to pay in the rankings.

I think we talked for longer, but I don’t really know what about. That ranking had engulfed and consumed me. This was supposed to be a slam dunk and here I was back in the rain. We left and got something to eat and then for some reason I went back to her place for reasons a friend of mine describes as solely masochist. I get on top of her bed and lay down while she sits on the other end. I make a lame pass that gets quickly shut down as I think to myself is it really worth it. So we’re talking about something and she asks about my reasons for hitting her up. I start to lie but she knows I’m lying. She calls me out on it really quick and she’s right to do so. Why would I lie to the person who said I was a 3.5 to my face? She was brutally honest with me so I suppose it’s my turn to repay the favor. I tell her about a hurt I had suffered recently and how I was trying to rebound. We had gone on a few fun dates before which always ended with the bonus of hooking up or fucking so I wanted to take a trip down memory lane and I needed to feel good about something. She told me that moved me up to a 4.5 but that was my peak. You know, just what everyone wants to hear after pouring out the pain bottled deep inside. She knew what the deal was when I made a joke earlier about being depressed. She said it sounded more believable than the previous times I had thrown out that old chestnut. I talked for probably twenty minutes about what was bothering me and it felt weird but refreshing to talk so openly to someone I knew I was never going to see again. I talked, she listened and told me things I can’t remember and then we segued into talking about her last sexual experience. We chatted and like that it got late.

I mentioned I was ready to leave and she said I could stay if I wanted. We’re we going to do anything I asked and she said no. I’d sleep on one side and she’s take the other of her king sized bed. What’s the point I said and she asked if I thought that just because I got her a drink meant that I was entitled to sleep with her. Of course not I said, that doesn’t mean anything. Plus you bought the second round so that excuse was invalid. I asked when she knew she didn’t want to sleep with me and she told me it was decided when she agreed to meet. So that was another in a series of fun revelations. That seemed like the perfect time to leave so I got my shoes and walked outside into the lower east side. Well that backfired tremendously and I guess I deserved it I thought as I prepared myself for the long walk back to the E train by cuing up Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks album. It’s the only thing I was listening to at the time. Still is.