I decided to take a week to work up to it. I determined that I would do it on a Friday night in front of the mirror in my bedroom, after drinking a glass of rose.
Then I baulked again. I wanted to lose a few pounds first. Nothing wrong with extra weight, but I wanted to feel healthier in mind and body when I presented myself to myself. I decided to wait two weeks.
As the fateful Friday approached, I agonised over what to wear. It was important to look nice but not desperate. I found a solution: I'd ask myself out at 5.30pm, immediately after work, so I'd be well-dressed without seeming as though I were trying too hard.
On a warm Friday evening, I marched through my door, put on a Barry White MP3, stood in front of the mirror and said: "Hi. I was wondering if you would like to go out sometime?" Inwardly, I cringed. It had come out so formal. What if I thought I was too stiff?
I pondered this for a while, then felt nervous because the answer was taking so long. If I was this insecure asking myself out, how good could the date be?
I took a half-hour to mull over the question and to give my cat a bath. Then I accepted my offer. After all, I had no plans for the coming weekend, or all of summer.
"Great," I responded. "Have you seen Wonder Woman?"
"No, I haven't," I replied, already knowing full well I hadn't seen Wonder Woman. This sologamy stuff was genius.
There was one more snag. Films in Manhattan have gotten expensive. The Saturday night showings were $17.50! I managed to find several theatres with Sunday matinees for $9. But did I really want to date someone so cheap?
Saturday night, I searched for a neighbourhood that might be tolerant of sologamy. Even the East Village and Alphabet City are overrun with heterosexual and homosexual couples now. I found a theatre in the Bronx.
I got there early on Saturday night and gave myself a pat on the back. I admire punctuality.
"I used to love watching Wonder Woman reruns after school," I told myself, sitting down. "It came on right after General Hospital. Luke and Laura were like superheroes, too. They saved the world three summers in a row." I made myself smile, but then I had nothing to add. Maybe I needed to switch topics.
"I heard the Yanks are in first place," I said.
"I'm not really into sports," I responded.
When the movie ended, I talked to myself a little about some patronising reviews I'd read, but people were looking at me funny. I took myself to a bar to loosen myself up.
At the bar, I grew tired of myself quickly. Truth was, I just wasn't feeling a spark.
On the way home I realised: I liked myself, but I wasn't in love with myself.
But how to let myself down easy?
At home, I sat on the edge of my bed staring at my phone, trying to figure out how to word a text rejecting myself politely but firmly. For three days, I debated what to say.
As I hesitated, the other side of me got angry about waiting so long for a text. How hard was it to send a simple text? Maybe I was really busy. I checked Facebook and Twitter to see if I'd posted anything in the past few days. I noticed some photos of avocado bruschetta that were a week old. Whew, clearly I was just busy. Besides, I had a life before I met me.
Finally, I came up with a solution - I would "ghost" myself. The other side of me was disappointed in myself for the cop-out, but eventually it was time to move on.
When the next weekend came, I made a decision: No dates at all. I ordered Asian fusion takeout, plucked a frosty pint of Ben and Jerry's from the grocery store, and watched An Affair to Remember at home. As I spooned my frozen yoghurt (and nothing else), I revelled in the lack of pressure and labels. It was the best Friday night I'd ever had.
