Letters From The Bay, Week 5: The San Francisco Date Debate Part II

Okay, so let’s be honest: I wasn’t that into it from the start of things.

Sure, he was wearing a hat.  Hats = cute.

And sure, he owned his own company.  Owning stuff = hot.

But there is no way possible that after three hours of conversation this man wanted to get to date five with me.  After all, three hours do not equal even three dates, let alone five, just like how three plus date does not equal five plus date, or three plus five dates does not equal marriage or even a weekend in Napa, or something.

I’m not very good at math.

Or dating, apparently, because here is what went down Internet:

He insisted on date one, I said okay.

He insisted on dinner, I said okay.

We made the witty banter, it was okay.

Then we watched Shark Week at his house, and it was freaking awesome because as everyone knows, sharks are awesome.

He kissed me goodnight and said he couldn’t wait to see me again, which was okay.  I mean, a little presumptuous, but okay.

He put me in a cab and directed the driver back to my house, which was okay.

And then we never spoke again.

Which was not okay, because here’s why: three little letters.

T.P.O.

If you are a CSU RAM or Kappa Delta, you’ll remember TPO.

If you know me even a little bit, you’ll know that I am always the TPO’er, and never the TPO’ee.

And Mr. Hat Company Owner broke all the rules and TPO’ed me.

And now I’m just PO’ed.

Because I wanted to do it first.

Have you ever been TPO’ed?

How did you feel?

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