Dating B. F. Skinner

The other day I went on a date. I’d met the guy — I’ll call him B.F. Skinner — at a networking function I attended with a friend of mine. B.F. texted me afterward. To be honest, that struck me as strange — a guy several years my senior texting me to ask me out. But … whatever.

So B.F. and I went out. And the date was fine (fine-ish). Very subdued. Super low key. B.F. is a friendly, well-traveled, professionally successful psychoanalyst. But the sparks between us? Zero.

The next day B.F. sent me a text. He didn’t say, “I had a great time” or “I’d like to go out again.” No. Instead, he asked, “So how was your date last night?”

Wow. Way to be vulnerable. I’ll tell you how my date went if you tell me how your date went first. No, you first! No, you! Anyway, I replied honestly. It was “very nice,” I said.

The next night I awoke to the sound of my phone dinging. I grabbed my phone and saw I had a new text from B.F.

“Hi.”

That was the text in its entirety. “Hi.”

I clicked off the phone and fell back on the pillow. The last thing I remember before falling back asleep is laughing. “Hi.” Hee.

The next day, B.F. texted to ask me out again.

And I politely declined. I told him — by text, his preferred means of communication — that I didn’t feel the kind of connection I’m after.

His response? “Ok. Do you mind asking your friend [from the networking event] if she’d like me to call her?”

No problem whatsoever. I’ll pass her a note on my way to bio right after I light up in the smoking lounge and grab a couple textbooks from my locker.

I’m still laughing. I’m actually laughing while I type this. Jesus.