How Did the Date Go?

Remember the big news?

After weeks of The Hinge Experiment™, endless “Good mornings,” unanswered questions, Kelli being sent to the unmatched graveyard, and Steve the Iguana patiently waiting for his opportunity to become my wingman...

I HAD A DATE!

Well, potentially.

Sort of.

Maybe.

Okay, fine.

So, Niel... How Did the Date Go?

Great question. I would like to know.

Because...

She never responded.

Yep.

Welcome back to online dating, everybody!

Last time we checked in with “Missing Me,” things had taken an almost unbelievable turn.

I asked:

“Whatcha doing this weekend? Can I take you out?”

Eventually, she responded:

“That would be nice.”

Holy crap!

We did it!

Two people matched on a dating app and were potentially going to use the dating app for its alleged intended purpose:

GOING ON A DATE.

I asked about Saturday.

She couldn't do Saturday.

But then came the magical words:

“Sunday I could be.”

SUNDAY IT IS!

I suggested Tydz because it kept appearing in my algorithm. I'd never been there. I've barely explored Myrtle Beach or Surfside. It seemed like a fun place to grab something to eat and actually meet each other.

And then...

Nothing.

Houston, We Have Lost Contact

Saturday evening arrived.

Still nothing.

So I decided to eliminate another obstacle.

I sent her my real number.

Basically:

Here's my number. If you'd like to grab a bite, call or text me.

Easy.

No pressure.

No carrier pigeon.

No Morse Code.

No requirement to solve a CAPTCHA proving she could identify all the motorcycles in nine squares.

Just...

Call or text.

And then I waited.

Sunday morning came.

No response.

Sunday afternoon?

Nothing.

Sunday evening?

Still nothing.

At some point, Schrödinger's Date stopped being both alive and dead.

The cat was dead.

Wait... Weren't We Going Out?

This is the part of modern dating I genuinely don't understand.

She said:

“Sunday I could be.”

I responded:

“Ok, Sunday it is!”

That seems like progress!

Now, yes, we hadn't agreed on a time. She hadn't confirmed the restaurant. Technically, we didn't have a fully confirmed date.

But I wasn't exactly being subtle about my intentions.

Would you like to go out?

Yes.

Are you available?

Sunday.

How about this place?

...

Hello?

Anybody?

Bueller?

One Last Message

Yesterday morning, I sent one more message:

“I hope you are well. If you aren't, what can I do? When you are ready to meet, you have my number. Hope to hear from you.”

And that's where I'm leaving it.

She has my number.

She knows I wanted to meet her.

She knows I was willing to drive.

She knows I wanted to take her out.

There really isn't anything else for me to do.

I'm certainly not going to keep sending:

Good morning!

Good afternoon!

Good evening!

Good night!

At some point I'd stop being a potential date and become a talking grandfather clock.

Maybe Something Happened

I also want to be fair.

I don't know what happened.

Maybe something came up.

Maybe she got nervous.

Maybe she changed her mind.

Maybe life happened.

Maybe she's talking to someone else.

Maybe she opened Hinge, saw the message and thought, “I'll answer that later,” and then forgot.

So I'm not angry.

I'm not offended.

I'm mostly...

confused.

Because we're right back to the question I've been asking throughout this entire experiment:

How do people actually date anymore?

If you're not interested, that's okay.

If you've changed your mind, that's okay.

If you're not ready to meet, that's okay.

Just communicate.

Even:

“Hey, I've changed my mind.”

That's a complete sentence!

I'll survive.

The Hinge Experiment Continues... Somehow

So, for anyone eagerly awaiting the first official date report from The Hinge Experiment:

There isn't one.

No dinner.

No awkward first-date conversation.

No debating who pays the check.

No wondering whether there will be a second date.

No opportunity for me to completely overshare and tell her about this blog.

Nothing.

“Missing Me” lived up to the name.

She went missing.

And somewhere along the South Carolina coast, I can only imagine Steve the Iguana staring out toward the ocean, thinking:

“You should've called me from the beginning.”

You're right, Steve.

You're right.

The Hinge Experiment continues.

But the reptile plan is looking better every day.