Tell me something dark

So I got coffee with Bernard* yesterday afternoon/night. Coffee actually turned into a couple drinks which is always a good sign — things were not totally awkward. He was very nice: 28, web developer who works in publishing and dressed up as Don Draper from Mad Men for Halloween — major plus. He also qualifies the necessary categories in my "bottom tier" — over 5'10'' and brown hair.

We talked about various things: where we were from, our jobs, what we liked about New York, and of course I attempted to fill all the awkward pauses with things like "Nice!" and "Thats cool!" After the second beer he said to me, "Tell me something dark about yourself." Hmm, something dark. I am not a particularly "dark person." Yes, I have my skeletons in the closet, but I truthfully don't spend much time sitting around thinking about death. If that means I am not prepared for the eminent future, so be it. "Dark, you say?" I slowly answered. I thought hard. There was that time I dressed up as a vampire for Halloween, does that qualify? "Umm..." I fumbled. Then I had it. "When I am at the buffet at Whole Foods, I always nibble things before I go to pay," I said. "Oh, um, ok," he said, looking slightly confused. Maybe not the answer he was looking for, but I was being honest. And come on — don't we all do that? I see the BBQ tofu and think, "I like BBQ and I like tofu, but will I enjoy them together? And $7 per lb is a lot of money." So I just spoon a little in my salad box, take a taste and if I like it, I take a big spoonful. If I don't, I move on. Completely harmless. Except for the one day when I was tasting the Chicken Tiki Masala off the hot bar and it turned out to be really hot. I gave a little "eeek!" and inadvertently attracted the attention of a near by Whole Foods employee, immediatelyforcing me to sheepishly run away into the cheese and olive section. Maybe this is not exactly "dark," per se, but it is what came to mind.

Fortunately, this comment did not make the date go comepletely downhill. We sat and talked for almost three hours until the conversation slowed and I said I was going to head home. He offered to walk me. We strolled down my street and eventually arrived at my door — the awkward end of date conversation ensued. "So...maybe we could hang out sometime this week?" he asked.

"Yeah, that would be cool..." I said.

He leaned in for the kill. I turned my head and all he got was a very small peck. "Ok, so, talk to you this week!" I said, unlocking my door and scurrying inside.

The October issue of Cosmo told me that you are 75% more likely to get a second date if you makeout with the guy on the first one. Well, we'll see about that.