I went on a non-date date last night.

I didn’t think of it as a date; I’m happy with my single status quo for the moment. But I had been invited on twitter, some months ago, to get a friendly drink and talk about my breakup with Frank. At the time, I declined. But sorting through my old twitter messages, I saw the invite and thought, why not? Same deal: I’ve just gotten out of a relationship, just a different one.

So I sent him a message and included the word “friendly” in my message, to help clarify my lack of romantic motive. Through a series of e-mails we set up our meeting, at Brooklyn Heights, a bar on Glenwood.

It had the usual initial awkwardness, but soon we simply conversed as new acquaintances might, mostly about our jobs, twitter and the Internet. As my best friend pointed out, it is a date if he pays. I had started a tab before he arrived and paid for it without any objections on his part.
So I shrugged my shoulders and figured he was on the same page.

Until this morning. I received a text from him — apparently it had arrived last night after my phone was turned off — saying he’d had a great time and that we should do it again sometime. He ended with a smiley emoticon. Uh-oh.

Now, I’m a big fan of the direct approach. I almost always wish men would be more direct with me. So I responded with a yes, that’d be great, “as long as you’re ok with being just friends.”

I have not heard back.

Guess it was a date after all?

Update: Jan. 23 – Ah-ha. I received a message from my non-date date today, in the affirmative for hanging out next time I’m in Chapel Hill.

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