The Nice Guy: A persisting dilemma

The next date was with a rather polite and well-behaved fellow with whom I’d discussed beer and travel and photos and work and a smattering of other nonessentials when I initially agreed to the date. He was so polite and well-behaved, in fact, I’m just going to call him The Nice Guy. He was also so good at keeping me engaged in entertaining exchanges that it wasn't until around e-mail 11 when I finally asked his name. I’d say I believe he’d intentionally withheld it because he’s Indian and the name gives that away, but he’d told me that when he sent his picture (somewhere around e-mail 4), even though he could pass for Caucasian if he really wanted to. It wasn’t until we’d picked a day and activity for a date (by then, we were somewhere around e-mail 24) that I thought to ask his age and marital status, among other things. 34. Single. No kids (although, he revealed, he does sometimes behave like one. No problems with that here, I told him, as long as he wasn’t looking for a mommy).

We met for drinks at The Brickskeller after a tough day of apartment-hunting with the new roommie before heading to a little murder mystery. We sampled a few beers, and I fell in love. With the bar, that is, not the date. (And to think, I’d been living a mere block from this gem for months and never so much as cast a second glance at the entrance!) Not that the date wasn’t pleasant. It was entirely enjoyable. He was entirely enjoyable. Completely attentive, intelligent, complimentary, able to maintain a decent conversation, a perfect gentleman (with an accent slight enough to be intriguing without hindering conversation). All the good qualities girls everywhere are supposed to be looking for.

We left Brickskeller and got to the Kennedy Center just in time to grab a couple more beers before the first act of Shear Madness. The play was engaging (of course, as it’s designed that way) and gave us a good deal to talk about during the intermission and the short drive back toward my place. (By the way, I’d definitely recommend it!) Sounds like a nearly perfect evening, right? It was.

But there was one major problem. For this girl, The Nice Guy was pretty much too nice. Among my many and varied hang-ups lies a very pervasive one dealing with nice guys. I have this fear that, if given the opportunity, I’d take a nice guy and do the worst thing possible: make him into a jaded, bitter asshole. I’ve encountered a handful of nice guys in my time, and I try to keep a respectful distance because I know without knowing why I know that I’d ruin him. There is an overabundance of jaded, bitter assholes out there, and I don't want to add to that growing population. I’d hate to deprive some girl who truly wants and deserves a nice guy the opportunity to have one. It’s quite a conundrum, though. The major problem facing nice guys, from what I understand, is that most girls aren’t really interested.

Obviously, I’m no exception in this regard. Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t put up with a guy who constantly berated me or physically assaulted me, but I definitely need someone who’s not afraid to challenge me. It’s important that the person I’m with be there to keep me in line sometimes, keep me on my toes at the very least. And he should expect the same from me. Have I mentioned before that I can be a real bitch? I need someone who knows when it's appropriate to be at least a bit of an ass who can balance that.

Anyhow, The Nice Guy dropped me off in close proximity to my house (that’s right, I don’t even trust “nice guys” I meet on the Internet with my exact address), and I thanked him for a lovely evening. Exactly two e-mails later and our contact officially ceased. It’s just as well. He deserves someone nicer, and I hope he’s found her.

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Because of The Nice Guy, I ended up reading Bringing Down the House. It's a pretty good read, for those of you interested.