Three Dates In and You’ve Already Bought the House

Three dates can produce an astonishing amount of confidence.

Deciding you know a man after three dates is rather like buying an imaginary house in your head after seeing one spectacular foyer. The entrance was lovely, the tour guide was charming, and apparently that was enough to cancel the inspection.

You have talked for hours. You like the same music. He understands your sense of humor. You both dislike cruises, love old cities and apparently share the same unusually specific opinion about people who talk loudly on speakerphone.

This feels significant.

By dessert on date three, you may already have that delicious little sensation that you know him.

Not know-him know him, obviously. But somehow… know him.

Which is rather impressive considering you still have no idea what he is like when he is tired, inconvenienced, disappointed, told no or confronted with an appliance that has suddenly developed a personality.

But never mind.

The model home is gorgeous.

Everything Has Been Beautifully Staged

Early dating takes place under unusually favorable conditions.

Everybody has showered. Everybody has selected an outfit. Nobody is trying to locate a missing tax document while someone else announces that the dishwasher smells suspicious.

You meet in pleasant places, order pleasant things and discuss the more interesting portions of a personality. Childhood stories. Travel. Ambitions. Relationships. Dreams. That eccentric aunt.

A man can appear wonderfully calm over cocktails because nothing is currently happening that requires him not to be.

This does not mean anybody is pretending. Most people are perfectly genuine during early dating.

You are simply seeing them under excellent viewing conditions.

It is the romantic equivalent of touring a model home where every cushion has been fluffed, the counters are suspiciously empty and nobody mentions that the upstairs toilet makes a noise like a distressed goose.

Very appealing.

Possibly not the entire property.

Chemistry Starts Furnishing the Empty Rooms

The really entertaining part begins when you like him.

Now every fact seems to arrive carrying additional information it did not technically contain.

He calls when he says he will.

Reliable.

He speaks fondly about his mother.

Good man.

He says he wants a serious relationship.

Excellent. We have apparently established emotional capacity, long-term compatibility and perhaps preliminary holiday arrangements.

Chemistry hates an empty room.

Give it three attractive facts and several unknowns, and it immediately begins furnishing. A few good conversations become “excellent communicator.” One thoughtful gesture becomes “deeply considerate.” He says honesty matters to him and suddenly honesty has curtains.

Very tasteful.

None of these conclusions are ridiculous. They may even turn out to be correct.

They simply arrived before the evidence and brought their own moving van.

Familiarity Is Not the Same as Information

An instant connection can make another person feel strangely familiar.

You finish each other’s thoughts. Conversation runs for five hours. He says something you have privately believed for years and suddenly there is that almost eerie feeling:

Where have you been?

Probably somewhere living an entire complicated life you still know almost nothing about.

But emotional recognition can feel so powerful that we confuse it with knowledge.

You recognize something in him.

That does not mean you have completed the tour.

You may know how he talks about relationships while knowing very little about how he behaves inside one. You may know what he says about loyalty before you have seen what loyalty costs him. You may know his values beautifully in sentence form.

And some rooms only open after somebody is annoyed.

Nobody Has Seen the Basement During a Storm

A considerate man during a lovely evening is useful information.

A considerate man when the evening is no longer lovely is considerably more interesting information.

What happens when the plan changes? When you disagree? When he wants something and you do not? When work becomes miserable? When somebody has to compromise and, regrettably, that somebody appears to be him?

Suddenly, doors begin opening.

Perhaps beautifully.

You discover that the charming man is even kinder under pressure than you expected. He apologizes without performing reconstructive surgery on the meaning of the word. He handles frustration without turning the surrounding population into casualties.

Wonderful.

Or perhaps you discover that the man who described himself as “very easygoing” meant when things are going my way.

Ah.

Another room.

The point is not that everybody has a hidden dungeon. Most people do not.

They simply have portions of the property that were not available during the champagne tour.

Then Comes the Great Shock: “He Changed”

Months later, something surprising happens and the mind immediately reaches for the most dramatic explanation.

He changed.

Did he?

Sometimes, certainly.

But sometimes the man did not transform at all. You simply reached a part of the building that was not included in the original tour.

Early on, you saw affectionate him.

Now you have met defensive him.

You knew entertaining him.

Here comes avoidant him, moving briskly toward the nearest exit because apparently difficult conversations violate the lease.

The new information clashes with the original picture, and because the original picture arrived first—and looked extremely good in natural light—we tend to treat it as the real version.

Everything contradictory becomes an unfortunate renovation.

But first impressions do not receive permanent ownership merely because they got there early.

The person is all of it.

The charming parts, the awkward parts, the magnificent parts, the irritating parts, and the peculiar habits that do not reveal themselves until month six because no sane person discusses refrigerator organization on a second date.

Getting to know someone is much slower and stranger than a dramatic unveiling.

A door opens here. A cupboard sticks there.

One afternoon you discover he is unexpectedly wonderful during a crisis. Three months later you discover assembling flat-pack furniture causes him to question both the relationship and modern civilization.

The property continues introducing itself.

And perhaps that is what makes those early declarations of I feel like I’ve known you forever so charming.

You have known him for eleven days.

The foyer is simply spectacular.