Is That Orion’s Belt? A First Date Story

In the vast, seemingly endless ocean of profiles, I found myself swiping with a sense of resignation. Another night, another digital parade of faces, each one blending into the next in a monotonous blur. The thrill of possibility had long since worn thin, replaced by a quiet cynicism. It was easy to feel like a spectator in my own life, passively watching the show go on without any real engagement.

But then, as if by some quiet miracle, she appeared. Not in the way that stops you dead in your tracks with sheer beauty, but in a way that made you pause and look closer. Her profile picture was unassuming, not a conventional knockout by any stretch. Yet, there was something about her that drew me in.

Her hair, dark and flowing, framed her face like an artist’s final brushstrokes. It wasn’t just the hair, though. It was her style—each piece of clothing, each accessory, spoke of a quiet confidence and a vibrant inner world. It was as if her essence had seeped into every pixel of her profile, creating a tapestry of creativity and authenticity.

I hovered over the screen, my thumb indecisive. Normally, my shallow impulses would have me swipe left, dismissing her in the cruel, silent way these apps facilitate. But there was something different this time. Maybe it was the way her smile didn’t seem forced, or the glint of mischief in her eyes. Maybe it was the realization that beauty isn’t just skin deep, that it resides in the nuances and subtleties of a person’s character.

Her bio was a refreshing change from the usual clichés. She wrote about her love for old vinyl records, her passion for painting abstract canvases, and her habit of getting lost in bookstores for hours. There was a rare authenticity, a sense of self that wasn’t crafted for approval but rather an invitation into her world.

For a moment, I hesitated. The shallow part of me whispered doubts, reminding me of past disappointments. But a stronger voice urged me to be brave, to take a leap into the unknown. I swiped right, feeling a strange mix of excitement and trepidation.

In the grand scheme of things, it was a small gesture, a simple swipe. But in that moment, it felt monumental, a step towards breaking free from old patterns and embracing something deeper, something real. And as the app confirmed our match, I couldn’t help but smile, feeling a spark of hope rekindle within me.

Her name was Lauren, and after a few messages and a meeting over FaceTime, we decided to meet in person. Our conversations had been easy and comfortable, filled with laughter and shared interests. It seemed promising. One evening, during one of our phone calls, Lauren casually mentioned that she was going for an extreme haircut the next day.

“Extreme haircut?” I asked, intrigued but not overly concerned.

“Yeah, something really different,” she replied, her voice filled with excitement.

I pictured her with perhaps a bold pixie cut or maybe a splash of vibrant color. My mind conjured images of edgy, chic hairstyles that would only add to her charm. Honestly, I like a little crazy sprinkled in there.

The evening of our date arrived, and I made my way to the quaint little café where we had agreed to meet. It was a warm, breezy night, perfect for an evening out. As I entered the café, I scanned the room for Lauren.

And there she was, sitting by the window, her profile illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlamp outside. But not in a way that accentuated her beauty, but rather because the light was reflecting off her bald head. I stopped in my tracks, my mind taking a moment to process what I was seeing. Lauren’s head was completely shaved. The bold, daring move she had hinted at was far beyond what I had imagined.

My first thought was to leave. I feel that’s completely understandable in this situation. She shaved her damn head! Just then she looked up and we caught eyes.

Gathering myself, I walked over to her table, my heart pounding just a little faster.

“Hey, Lauren!” I greeted her with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, acting like all my dates surprise me like this, hoping my shock didn’t show.

Her eyes matched mine, bright with the same excitement. “Hey! You made it!”

I took a seat across from her, my mind racing. How do you act like you’re not surprised when you’re sitting across from a woman who, until yesterday, had a full head of hair and now looks like a talking thumb?

“Did you ever get time for that haircut?” I asked jokingly, trying to ease my tension.

“Do you like it?” she asked, running a hand over her smooth head.

“It’s… bold,” I said, which was both true and an understatement. “Really suits your face.”

Lauren beamed, clearly pleased with my response. Meanwhile, I tried not to stare at the glare from the light’s reflection on her smooth dome.

We ordered our drinks, and the conversation flowed as naturally as it had over the phone. At least, it did for Lauren. For me, it was a constant battle to keep my eyes from wandering back to her head. The freckles on her scalp seemed to form constellations, and I found myself tracing patterns, completely losing track of what she was saying.

“…and that’s when I realized I’d left my keys inside,” Lauren said, finishing what must have been an amusing story.

I laughed a beat too late, hoping it was the right response. “Wow, that’s… something.”

She raised an eyebrow but continued with another story, something about her work. I nodded, trying to keep my eyes locked on hers, but those freckles—they were mesmerizing in the weirdest way. How many were there? I swear I saw Orion’s belt.

At one point, she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “You know, I think some people here are staring.”

“Of course they are,” I thought. “Isn’t that the point?” I asked aloud.

As the words slid from my lips, I knew it was the wrong response.

“Absolutely not,” she replied, clearly offended. “I don’t care what anyone thinks,” she said with the confidence of a two-ton lion. “I do things for me.”

“That’s great,” I replied, trying to seem impressed.

The drinks came: a Sauvignon Blanc for her and a Moscow Mule for me. As I sipped the spicy yet refreshing beverage, I interjected, “So, you were done with hair and wanted to go bald?”

“It’s a statement,” she said. “I don’t abide by what society says is pretty.”

“Gotcha,” I said. It was all I could manage. I could see this was going to turn bad and needed to change the topic fast.

“So, tell me more about your art,” I said, desperately trying to steer the conversation into safer waters.

Her eyes lit up. She described a painting that sounded like a riot of colors and emotions, and for the first time that evening, I was truly engaged. The passion in her voice was infectious, yet I could not stop looking at those damn freckles. “Do I have freckles like that on my head?” I thought.

As the evening drew to a close, we stepped outside into the warm night air. Lauren turned to me, her eyes twinkling, her head matching the moon. “So, was this the most unusual date you’ve ever been on?”

I chuckled, feeling a mix of relief and genuine amusement. “Definitely up there.”

She laughed, a sound that was light and genuine. “Well, I aim to leave an impression.”

Her smile softened. “So, would you be up for doing this again?”

I looked at her uneasily and answered honestly, “No.”