I went on a second date with Mr. Red Socks on Wednesday. We got tacos and went to a mezcal speakeasy, and he told me he voted for Mitt Romney (he “experimented” in college by trying out Republicanism). In the words of a wise friend: “Red socks, red scarf, red values, red flag.” Politics aside, it was a pleasant date, but I don’t think I’m feeling much of a spark. I think that’s partly due to the fact that…

On Tuesday, I had a very fun first date. Before meeting, our Hinge convo revolved around S Club 7, The Spice Girls, and Beanie Babies—already off to a very compatible start. I was running a few minutes behind and he waited outside the bar for me, which was oddly nice because it’s winter. The bar ended up being too crowded so we walked to another place down the block. The hostess of this dimly lit wine bar pointed us to a table in the back, and he seemed confused. That’s when he told me that he had gone to the eye doctor earlier in the day, and he still couldn’t fully see. I joked that he was on a literal blind date, and then realized I was now in charge of reading the menu for us. Our 4-hour date ended with a walk to the subway station and a brief, surprisingly good makeout. No idea if he actually knows what I look like, but we are going out again this Tuesday. TBD if he’ll get an invite to my company’s holiday party on Friday.

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