With the cold weather settling in in Montreal, it has become increasingly difficult to come up with fresh ideas to meet random new dudes for dates while respecting Armageddon 2020 guidelines.

My usual go-to M.O. – Pinot Noir on a bench in Westmount Park – is no longer an option. You see, Luka the little bastard got a little too interested in the middle-aged lady wearing a leopard bodycon dress and a butt load of lip gloss nervously sucking on her Starbucks reusable cup at 7:30 on a Friday Night, and busted her to his mom Emilia the park Nazi. Turns out the city of Westmount does not take kindly to slutty public drinking (and screaming filth at 7-year-olds while pushing them off the seesaw but whatever.)
Thanks a lot, Luka and Emilia. I was going to take up SKATING in that park this year. A winter sport! I was going to wear mitts and a cute hat, and maybe even a Lolë poncho. Even went to Canadian Tire to look at shoes with a bottom cutting thing and everything. But no, the winter wonderland dream was SNATCHED away from me. Now I’ll just have to stick to lip-syncing to Donna Summer watching myself in the fireplace doors for fitness.
But I digress. Dates.
The way I see it, the ideal date set-up has three main components:
Capacity to showcase my cutest outfits: no one wants to try to seduce Steeve with two "e" wearing a Canada Goose parka or, God forbid, a fucking one-piece from Costco. Pick your battles, and that is not one you will win.
Availability of alcoholic beverages and/or dainty finger foods. Alcohol reduces inhibitions, which is good, provided you can resist the urge of telling the heartwarming story of Mamie Chouinard’s bladder dropping through her pelvic floor after giving birth to your mom and aunts and uncles. And fyi, ribs are not considered dainty. Choose wisely.
Opportunity for either a swift conclusion (in case of orgy talk and/or chin warts) or a sexy second act involving (in no particular order) The Crown, carrying heavy furniture purchased on Marketplace and a shared fascination for all things Depeche Mode.
With that in mind, here are three ideas for first dates in Corona Times (I know I said five in the title, but there’s only so much connection you can brew two meters apart, in a public place wearing a motherfucking mask, k?)
Idea 1: Visit the living room displays at Ikea and pretend that you are entertaining him in your own home, minus the seventy-four bottles of shampoo in your shower (what? I like variety in my suds) and the life-size voodoo doll wearing your ex’s boxers and wife beater hanging upside down in your garage (a.k.a. "contemporary art"). To be fair, any furniture store will do, but I am partial to a nice Morabo deep seat & cheap hot dogs (bonus if you can eat them delicately in a suggestive manner).
Idea 2: Have your tires changed at the same garage at the same time and use it as an opportunity to observe each other under pressure as he gets told his crankshaft manifold (insert any boring but expensive car thing name here) needs to be replaced and/or the mechanic pulls out an entire family of live gerbils from your glove compartment.
Idea 3: Watch all 17 seasons of Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix together over Zoom and take a sip of Pinot whenever a character exhibits questionable professionalism/has fabulous hair even when working 93 hours a week/has a shit love life even worse than yours. You’ll be drunk within the first 12 minutes but you’ll cherish those bonding moments getting sloppy sloshed watching McDreamy struggling with his curls and McSteamy being a dickwad.
So, there you have it. Let me know how it goes if you try any of these. I’ll be right here, trolling for Zoom dates on dating apps while dreaming of one day again licking a random dude’s clavicle while hugging him legally.
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