The accidental second date

My rule of thumb with my blog is that I never write about anyone who got as much as a second date. Without that kind of restriction, it's probable that potential boyfriends would be nervous to go out with me in fear of appearing as a weekly entry when things went belly up.

The rule does pose a dilemma, however, when the second date is accidental.

A friend of mine had one of those recently, when she showed for a blind date only to realize she'd been fixed up with him before. She was so embarrassed by the situation that she didn't raise the topic of this being their second date. And while it was obvious he recognized her too, he was also apparently too embarrassed to acknowledge the uncomfortable reality of their situation. So they battled their way through their unintentional second date, both pretending it was the first time they'd met, even holding some of the same conversation they'd conducted years before on their first date. She claimed that the funniest part of the entire experience was that for the second time running, at the end of the date he promised to call her even though they both knew that the probability of achieving peace in the Middle East was higher than a third date.

While I've never actually had to go through with an accidental second date, I've certainly had a few close shaves. The example that leaps to mind is my follow-up run-in with Stuart. We met about five years ago, through a dating site. At first, we just corresponded. On paper, we looked like a perfect fit, both ardent Zionists with Anglo-Saxon backgrounds, both writers in hi-tech, voracious readers and a fairly cynical outlook on life. Our email exchange was hilarious, to the extent that we were both rather reluctant to meet in person, just in case the face-to-face meeting didn't live up to the expectations set by our unparalleled written communication.

When we could no longer postpone the inevitable, we went out for a short, awkward dinner of good food and bad chemistry, concluded with a mutual agreement that we would part ways amicably. It was one of those dates that closely resembles a job interview rather than a romantic interlude, and I think we were both grateful when it came to a premature end. The biggest disappointment in this episode was that I lost the best pen-pal I'd ever had, and I remember his sharp written wit to this day.

It seems, however, that I did not warrant the same solid impression. A number of years after our first (and only) date, I met friends for a drink one night and they introduced me to the very same guy - Stuart. My initial reaction was to blush, then to stutter, and I was impressed at how cool he was in the face of what could have been a most awkward situation. I was amazed at the way he managed to pretend we'd never met, and wondered how long it would take before he'd call me aside to comment on how potentially embarrassing the situation was.

It took about half an hour for the penny to drop. I realized that it was not pure class facilitating Stuart's smooth reaction to me – it was the fact that he truly believed this was the first time we'd ever met. I played along for a while, but when he starting going through his repertoire of interview questions from the first date all those years ago, I couldn't take it any more. I was forced to ask whether he was experiencing any kind of déjà vu at all. He was blown away when I reminded him that we had not only met before, but that we'd gone on a date that was preceded by weeks of correspondence. And even then there was no glimmer of recognition, just a blank look followed by a stammer of apology and the quickest getaway I've witnessed in all my years of dating. To some extent I envy Stuart's sieve-like memory - some dates really are best left forgotten.