Kiss and Tell: “My date smoked an entire joint while driving us to the restaurant”

Kiss and Tell: “My date smoked an entire joint while driving us to the restaurant”

Sarah, a 35-year-old artist, lowered her expectations to have a little fun. But it turns out that some red flags are impossible to ignore

Welcome to Kiss and Tell, a new series about the steamy, surprising and frequently absurd world of Toronto dating. Send your most memorable stories from the pursuit of love and lust in the city to .

—As told to Isabel Slone

When I matched with Nick on Hinge, I was at a point in my life where I was ready to give dating another shot. I tend to go through periods where I don’t have the energy for it, I’m not sure what I want or my expectations are too high. But I’d been single for longer than I care to admit, plus I was going through a busy period at work and needed a distraction. Basically, I just wanted to have some fun.

Related: “We found love in Toronto’s most hopeless club”

Nick had a moustache and brown hair. I thought he was handsome. He was wearing a designer tracksuit in one of his photos, which I thought was a funny flex and a sign that he didn’t take himself too seriously. He was seven years younger than me, but he stood out from a lot of other dating app dudes who dress like they just got off a boat or are going to court.

I have a short attention span for chatting through the app, so after I established that we had good banter, I was ready to meet up. He suggested a French restaurant on Dundas Street. I liked that he took the initiative. The night of, I was running late and it was pouring rain, so he offered to pick me up. I was surprised, but I appreciated the gesture. I said yes.

When he pulled up, my first impression was that he fulfilled my attractiveness criteria. I want to be devastated by how hot someone is, and he was that good looking. At the restaurant, the chemistry was solid. We both drank champagne and cocktails. I found it a bit strange that he wasn’t shying away from alcohol since he would be driving. But I figured, He’s six foot one—I guess he can handle it.

The conversation flowed easily. At one point, he started talking about how much he loved being alone in nature and spending time with rocks. He’d been very cheeky—calling me honey a lot—so this moment of sincerity threw me off. I thought, Is this guy surprisingly deep? After that, we got into a bit of flirtatious touching, including playing footsie.

When we finished dinner, we walked outside and he said, “So you’re coming to my place? I’ll need to see if you’re a good kisser first.” I was briefly offended, but my sense of adventure took over and I thought, Why not? We started making out on the sidewalk. Admittedly, it was pretty hot. I took him up on his invitation.

We jumped into his car. Suddenly, he started driving like a maniac: speeding, weaving in between lanes, accelerating until he reached a red light. I thought, this guy clearly does not know how to drive downtown. It wasn’t that I felt unsafe, but I really did question his driving skills.

Related: “My date made kissy faces at me and left without paying for his drinks”

We ended up at his house in Mississauga, which looked like a regular two-storey home. He showed me into the basement, which was oddly decked out to look like a downtown condo. It was filled with incredible coffee-table books about art and fashion. Not your typical dude apartment—it looked like he’d raided a HomeSense.

I started noticing that everything was really fancy. The bathroom was filled with Aesop products, and his bedroom had a bunch of fake candles and hurricane lamps. I was like, What is this, my mom’s house? He showed me an entire room, about the size of a storage closet, filled with pricey red Staub cookware stacked on the floor.

I was trying to keep an open mind, but I just couldn’t get a read on this guy. Who loves coffee-table books and has an entire room full of Staub cookware? And how did he afford this stuff? He told me he worked retail. When I asked him if he lived in the whole house, he said yes, but he mentioned that his upstairs roommate was out working night shifts.

He made us a drink, and despite my reservations, I agreed when he suggested that we have sex in his backyard. It was fun, but I was also a bit shocked because, well, we were outside. The suburban setting certainly wasn’t the natural solitude that came up at dinner.

The next week, we texted a bit. One day, he got off work at 8 p.m. and asked if I was “Up for a nice night of making the best of it? ;)” I had no idea what that meant, but…sure? I didn’t really understand this guy, but I’d had a nice time on our first date. Why not go out again? He made another reservation but wouldn’t tell me where. He only said that he’d pick me up at 9 p.m. I picked out a short floral dress.

He rolled up outside my house half an hour late. I wasn’t mad, but I was super hungry. I asked him if my outfit was okay, and his response was pretty mild—definitely not as enthusiastic as I’d hoped for. Then, as soon as I hopped in the car, he lit a massive joint, which he proceeded to smoke for the entire drive to the restaurant. I smoke weed too, but I was taken aback by his brazenness. His driving was erratic, but by that point it felt normal.

We ended up at this very chichi French restaurant on King Street, where he told me to order whatever I wanted. I figured this meant that he was paying, so I got the very expensive raw scallops as an app.

I was on an investigative mission to find out who this guy was, so I stopped being flirty and started asking more direct, hard-hitting questions. I asked him if his parents paid his rent, because I didn’t understand how he afforded all his stuff. He admitted that they helped him out and that the “roommate” he’d mentioned before was actually his dad.

When the cheque came, he said, “I’ll get this, but it would be great if you could send me an e-transfer.” In my head there was a thought bubble that said, “LOL nope.” He was the one who’d surprise-invited me to a fancy restaurant.

Even though the date was a bit awkward, I agreed to go back to his place. After all, the sex had been pretty good. We started to drive west on the Gardiner, but the traffic was a shitshow. While we were stuck in gridlock, he started getting really flirty. It was clear that we were both pretty horny. His hand started to creep under my dress. I enjoyed it but made sure it didn’t last too long—he needed to pay attention to the road.

When we got back to his house, we smoked a joint together and had sex in the middle of his floor. It wasn’t bad, but the whole thing just felt strange. It was fun to lean in to the chaos of seeing Nick for a bit, but I started remembering that I keep my expectations high for a reason. When I woke up in the morning, I thought, “I shouldn’t do this again.” I said goodbye and never texted him. He did reach out one more time, though. About three months later, he texted, “Annnnnnnd Sarah…you’re okay without…moi tonight?!?!?!” along with a bunch of winky faces. I didn’t respond.