An Abundance of Kevins

Remember how Seventeen magazine had those mortifying moments that girls would write in to the magazine about? This is a another story like that except instead of 17 I was 27.

In 2015 worked in reality TV development so at any given moment I might be at work texting a ghost hunter, a dance mom, or an Amish person. (Yes, they text.)

I was also swiping my heart away on dating apps. My Tinder bio said “I like to spend time in the great outdoors (beer gardens). ” I thought this made me appear to be very clever and/or chill AF.

I had this dating superstition that if a guy had moved out of the Tinder app and into texting that I wouldn’t put his name into my phone we were going to meet. Until then, he would go by some nickname that was usually agreed upon in a group text with my girlfriends. “Beard Bae.” “Bald Bae.” They weren’t super original.

“Dolphin Bae” was a guy who I’d exchanged messages with about things like our fear of dolphins (they’re very sexually aggressive creatures) and mutual love of cheap pitchers of beer. In retrospect he should have been called pitcher bae but again, not a lot of ingenuity here.

While Dolphin Bae and I were in that text-a-few-times-til-the-weekend-comes-to-see-if-we’re-going-to-meet-up-for-a-drink-phase I got called out of town last minute for a sizzle reel shoot for work.

The sizzle was a quick shoot for a new show about modern day cowboys in rural Texas. A part of me thinks, maybe I’ll find a cowboy boyfriend out there but I know it’s not true because the idea of settling down with an old fashioned cowboy is nice but I also like things like ordering postmates and equal rights.

Dolphin Bae asks if I’m free and I tell him I have to go out of town for work at the last minute which I recognize sounds like a lie (Err.. I recognize that it “sounds like a lie” because I’ve used this lie before.)

At work I juggle conversations with different numbers and different cowboys and the ranches we’re supposed to be filming on. I never save any of their numbers, either. There’s so much in TV development that never gets made, I don’t like to get too attached.

Last minute, the shoot is cancelled. Luckily Dolphin Bae, now “Kevin” in my phone is still free to meet up. We get cheap pitchers, we talk about other ocean creatures that make us uncomfortable (have you ever seen that video of an octopus getting out of the water and walking, BLUGH.)

But it’s just not *there*. He’s nice, I’m nice. We say goodnight. I don’t plan on seeing him again.

He texts me a few days later that he loved meeting me and wants to meet up again. Which is such a weird feeling of flattery and dread at the same time that there must be some complicated German word that describes it that I learned once but forgot. Something like gereiljweielsk. (not a word)

But the cowboy show is back in full swing and it’s time to saddle up for a shoot again, so I never text him back. I go through my cowboy contacts, there are too many to keep straight, “Clint, Colin, Kevin, Karl.” I finally decide put in their names in my phone to keep the production organized.

The shoot goes fine. The cowboys ride off into the sunset. The show is never made.

A few months later I need to get ahold of one of the cowboys again, Kevin, to see if he might be interested in being part of a different show about cowboys, but this one is a rodeo competition show called, “Not My First Rodeo.”

I text him. “Hey Kevin! Are you interested in being a part of a new show called “Not My First Rodeo?”

This is my life.

Kevin responds. “Hey Jen. This is Kevin who you went on a date with a few months back and didn’t text back. I am not a cowboy, but this also isn’t my first rodeo. Good luck with your show.”

I apologize, mortified, but I put it away to think about how to respond more when I’m at home later.

That night I have a glass of wine and finally decide to text Kevin back. “Sorry again. I had a nice time with you but I just didn’t think we’re the right match.”

“Kevin” does text me back. Just not the right Kevin. “No hard feelings, Jen. Although I have to say I’m surprised you’re interested in a 58 year old cowboy.”

Real Kevin, I’m sorry. Wherever/whoever you are, and whatever your phone number is.