He’s fiddling with his hair again. That greasy mop of hair he’s been running his fingers through all night. He saw me looking and apologised for his fidgety manner, said it was because of nerves. “No it’s not” I blurt out. Sometimes I forget that dates are typically with strangers and I can’t speak to them how I do a friend. He stares dumbfounded. I croak out an awkward laugh which leaves him no choice but to do the same. Except his is an overcompensating chuckle. The air is thick with uncertainty and my sarcasm probably didn’t help the matter. Especially not when I unleashed it exactly 0 seconds into our first meeting. He said my dress looked nice and jokingly said “what’s the special occasion?”. That’s the most comical thing he’s said all night and we’re on the third course. I misjudged his character and said “Funeral.” Safe to say dark humour also isn’t his forte. He adjusted his tie and chortled not meeting my eyes. He hasn’t done since other than the few times he’s stared intensely as if willing there to be some kind of chemistry or sexual tension. There’s about as much chemistry as an empty conical flask.