Two years after my divorce, I finally said yes to something I never thought I’d have to do again: go on a first date.
It felt surreal.
It had been 25 years since my last first date — the one with my husband. Back then, I thought that date would be my last first date ever. Like most of us do when we’re young and in love, I assumed “forever” meant exactly that.
And then life happened.
So there I was, two years post-divorce, staring at my phone after matching with a guy on Bumble, wondering how on earth people do this.
Right away, he called me.
I actually liked that. He was engaging, energetic, and easy to talk to. He seemed to have his life together — a decent job, his own home, and enough confidence to skip endless texting and just pick up the phone. It felt refreshing.
We made plans to meet the very next day at BJ’s Restaurant, conveniently close to my house. Convenient… but also dangerous.
Because close to home meant there was a very real chance I could run into someone I knew.
Nothing says “I’m gracefully navigating post-divorce dating” quite like unexpectedly locking eyes with an acquaintance while sitting across from a Bumble date.
When I arrived, he was already sitting at the bar. As I approached, he greeted me with a quick peck on the cheek.
And just like that, my nerves shot through the roof.
I had spent the entire drive giving myself a pep talk: Just treat him like a coworker. Or a neighbor. You talk to men all the time. This is not a big deal.
But suddenly it was very much a big deal.
We ordered wine and started talking. The conversation was fine, and I was slowly starting to relax.
Then, before I knew what was happening, he leaned in to kiss me.
Not a polite end-of-date peck.
Not even a brief spontaneous kiss.
No, this man went straight into full-on make-out mode — tongue and all — in the middle of the bar.
I froze.
Partly because I was caught completely off guard.
Partly because I was still trying to process the fact that this was my first date in 25 years.
And partly because I was now convinced that this would be the exact moment someone I knew would walk by and witness the entire thing.
As if that wasn’t enough, there was another discovery waiting for me.
At one point he got up to use the bathroom, and when he stood up, I realized something surprising:
This was definitely not the 5’9” man his profile had advertised.
Let’s just say Bumble had generously rounded up.
By the end of the date, the aggressive public make-out attempt had firmly secured his place in the “absolutely not” category.
When he walked me to my car, I refused to make eye contact because I knew another kissing ambush was likely imminent.
I was not taking that chance.
When I got home, he texted me.
I didn’t respond.
Was ghosting the most mature response? Probably not.
But after 25 years off the dating market, I genuinely didn’t know the etiquette for politely saying, “Thank you for the wine, but the surprise bar make-out session and creative interpretation of your height were not for me.”
The next morning, he sent one final text: “It figures.”
To this day, I’m still not entirely sure what that meant.
What I do know is this: that awkward, uncomfortable, slightly hilarious first first date taught me something important.
I survived it.
And more importantly, I learned a lot about myself.
I learned that chemistry matters — but comfort matters more.
I learned that honesty matters, even about something as seemingly small as height.
And I learned that starting over is awkward for everyone.
That first date wasn’t a love story.
It wasn’t even a good date.
But it was the beginning of me figuring out what I wanted, what I didn’t want, and how to trust myself again.
And honestly?
That made it worth it.
Question from Della: What was your first date after divorce like? Smooth sailing… or an awkward story you can laugh about now?
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