On my walk to meet him, I realized I was nervous. Whoa, weird. Having spent the majority of my six years in NYC single, I can’t remember the last time I was nervous for a first date. Truth be told, I’ve been on so many first dates I can’t remember them all. I’ve reached that enviable state of indifference about dating, where first dates that go no where no longer phase me. First dates are fun at best, good stories at worst. The stakes are so low, there’s no point in getting riled up.

But this date was different. I’d never been on a date like this before. I knew nothing about this guy. Okay, fine, not quite nothing. The number of things I knew about him I could count on one hand:

#1 He is cute.
#2 He’s a good dancer.
#3 We have a similar taste in music.
#4 The street he lives on in Brooklyn.
#5 He’s a “good guy”, at least that’s what Miranda’s boyfriend’s former roommate said when she asked him.

I could count the number of sentences I had exchanged with my date on my other hand. We met at Miranda’s boyfriend’s surprise 30th birthday party. The celebration was in Brooklyn, a rooftop dance party. I’d spent most of the night dancing with friends, all of whom have significant others. As midnight came and went, in the wee hours of the morn I found myself looking for a dude to dance with.

I found him, cute in flannel with a well-groomed beard. Totally Brooklyn, totally into dancing with me. We had a blast grooving to Girl Talk, Billy Joel, and maybe ChumbaWumba if I’m remembering correctly. Y’all know I’m a sucker for dancing, it plays a prominent role in many (many, many, many) of my “I met a guy” blog posts. This is another story to add to that list.

Suddenly it was 2AM and my last pair of Manhattan bound friends were telling me they were leaving. Did I want to share an Uber with them? No, I did not want to share an Uber. I wanted to stay and dance with this guy whose name I had only just learned. Who lived in the neighborhood and had just pointed his house out down the street. Even though it was after 2AM, and nothing good ever happens after 2AM, I somehow made the rational choice. I left with my friends, leaving my dance partner with my phone number.

So all this lead me to sitting at a bar in midtown, uncharacteristically early, waiting for my date. Would I even recognize him when he walked in? How drunk had I been that night? It had been dark… What if we had nothing in common? Nothing to talk about? I didn’t know how old he was, I had no idea where he was from, I didn’t even know five things he could never live without.

It was as close to a blind date as I ever hope to come. When he walked in 5 minutes late (usually perfect timing for my chronic tardiness)  I recognized him instantly. Phew, one worry out-of-the-way. We sat down, each with a pint of Guinness in hand. I could tell he was a little nervous too.

Would this first date be fun or just a good story?