I went on another date.
Not with the same guy as before.
No, he stopped talking to me randomly even though we had been getting along fine and talking about a second date. Which would have offended me if I wasn't completely serious about taking this whole dating thing with a grain of salt. Instead, I shrugged my shoulders and moved on.
This was a different guy. One who didn't message back and forth for a million weeks before finally asking me out.
Nope. We sent probably three messages, and then he asked me out. Which I liked. And then he made all the plans himself. Which I also liked. I am terrible at making decisions.
Let's call him D. Since that's the letter his name starts with, and I'm pretty sure I haven't referred to anybody else as D yet.
D and I met for dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant that my friend told me was actually pretty gross.
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