Gonna Party Like It's Your Birthday

My date with Mr. Dimples started off like you would expect from any other:

Girl meets Boy...at bar.
Girl smiles flirtatiously at Boy.
Boy looks around before walking over to make sure Girl is smiling at him.
Boy and Girl partake in meaningless small talk to exchange stats that will be forgotten minutes later.
Boy gives Girl bad pick-up lines and points out dimples as Boy's best hook-in-the-ladies feature.
Girl turns her head so she can roll her eyes subtly but brushes off Boy's flaw, noting to herself severe lack of flawless single boys in the world.
Boy asks Girl on date.
Girl accepts.
Boy walks away thinking he's a stud. Girl walks away with a smirk, knowing that Boy is clueless as to the fact that absolutely nothing happened in this exchange that Boy had any control over or was in any way, shape, or form his idea.

Oh, the routine of it all.

Now if you remember, I was a bit concerned about agreeing to this date from the beginning. He's ten years older than me, and he's never been married. Weird? Maybe not...but once a person reaches a certain age without marrying, it is definitely not wrong to wonder if there is a very good reason for it. But at first meeting, he was very cute, charming, and seemed like a fun guy—what could be wrong with him?

Mr. Dimples offers to drive down to my city to take me to dinner—a very sweet offer since the drive is something like 50 miles. He's supposed to pick me up at 8:00 p.m. At 8:02 p.m., I get text saying he got lost, so he'll be a bit longer before arriving.  At 8:19 p.m., I get a text: "I think I'm here." I message back that I will meet him out front. I walk out the front door of my building and look around—nothing. Then suddenly, a very frazzled driver goes flying down the street, oogling at me through the window in bewilderment. Apparently, he's still lost but doesn't know it.

Once he has parked, frantically apologized over and over again for being late and lost, and otherwise calmed down, we decide to walk to a nearby restaurant for dinner. We chit-chat about our work days, and he starts telling me about his recent move to a new apartment:

"See, I work out of my home, so all my time is spent where I am living. I don't know what it was about my old building, I think it was mold, or asbestos, or mildew, or something, but my allergies were so terrible in that old place... [proceeds to discuss allergy symptoms as I tune out] ... so I decided I had to move."

Gross.  Really? We haven't made it to the restaurant yet and already I'm wondering, was Dimples this dorky at the bar? Surely I didn't drink that much the night we met?  Maybe?  I realize he is definitely not quite as handsome or charming as I had remembered either.

But the walk to dinner, I realize later, is only the opening act.

"Are you going to Dolly's birthday dinner next weekend?" he asks.

"No, actually, my friend Rowdy and I are going to Texas that weekend, so we'll miss it. Should be fun though."

"Yeah, seems like there are a lot of birthdays in August...I know of at least one almost every week."

"Yeah, me too—my sister Rugrat's birthday is actually today."

"Oh yeah, so is mine...," he comments very matter-of-factly.

Wait a second... Huh? Hold on — WHAT?!?! I actually have to sit there and stare at him a few seconds, then verify that it is indeed his birthday today and that he isn't trying to say he has a sister with a birthday today too, before I can figure out what to say in reply. Do I go with, "that's nice," or "we should get you a piece of cake"? Or maybe, "Sorry you don't have any friends to share it with and you're stuck on this semi-blind date with me"? I mean, what is the appropriate response here?

I actually have to go to the bathroom again to laugh. (I know, this is becoming something of a trend with me. Because of me, my friend actually has a complex now that every time his date goes to the bathroom, she's secretly laughing at him.)

Lesson #2 in Post-Divorce Dating:  When agreeing to have dinner with middle-aged, non-divorced, single males who have fixations on their dimples, make sure you question when their next birthday is.  And then cross your fingers that they didn't lie.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée