the shameful tales of a happy singleton

Via We Heart It

Have you ever had one of those perfect weekends? One while you’re in the moment doesn’t seem real, and afterwards seems even less so?

I’m returning from one of those.

As I’ve done in the past, if I’m travelling alone and single while doing so, I troll online dating for a local, preferably cute, tour guide. Before I made it to Copenhagen, a very cute gentleman sent me a perfectly crafted message. He dared me to say no to sushi, and well, I just couldn’t. We made plans to meet my first night in the city.

I walked to our dinner location, and began to play out scenarios in my head on how this night would play out. Nothing could prepare me for how well it all went.

He was already sitting down when I arrived. I joined him at the table and it was like magic. He was funny and smart. He was complimentary and cynical. He was cute and self deprecating.

Essentially he checked off all the boxes in my checklist. Beyond that, the banter was fantastic – he had me laughing my ass off.

We finished dinner and he said “So, I’ve got a joint if you’d like to smoke it.” It was like he read my mind.

We went for some more drinks, smoked said joint and then went to a blues bar.

When we arrived at the blues bar there was a band on stage. Now I’m not a fan of blues, so this band could have been amazing or they could have been the worst in the history of blues, either way, this was such a random thing I couldn’t hate on it.

As the band got off stage, they announced that they would have a jam session for any musicians interested in getting on stage. My date leaned in and said to me “I’m going to play some music for you” and proceeded to get on stage to play.

There I sat, in a foreign land, with a foreign boy watching him play blues.

I’m not sure who’s life this is, but I’ll take it.