Unavailable, Date 1: We meet in Brooklyn Heights, Boca Lupa, a restaurant I hadn’t been to before. All glass and candles and wood. Warm-yet-controlled. Very Brooklyn Heights.

It’s when he says he was thinking we’d go to a different place for dessert, one with all kinds of chocolate, that I think it’s 100% impossible for this date to go badly.

A specific destination for dessert that’s full of chocolate?

Awe-some.

Awesome, that is, until —

Eyes closing, head bobbing, he’s falling asleep at dinner. As I’m talking. Okay, I know everything I say isn’t necessarily riveting, but this has never really happened before either. As I’m talking? At dinner? On a date? Nodding off?

He apologizes, says he’s tired. I’m so, SO sorry—I went to the gym for a couple hours — ran, rowed, spinned—and then I played soccer with my league. All today, he says. Tired.

Wow, I say, that’s INSANE. I went running, but only for an hour, and I considered myself amazing for doing it. (And, when I say “run” I really mean I got on that Elliptical machine. An hour is not so hard. And when I say an hour, I really mean about 45 minutes…Still I feel pretty good about myself.)

He laughs. He feels bad, you can tell.

Also: Falling asleep? At dinner? On a date?

We manage to go to the specific place full of chocolate dessert (which IS amazing — chocolate cake with chocolate frosting!).

Then, in some sudden burst of something—ambition? A second wind? (Guilt?)— unlike every date, most of whom never bothered to walk me to the subway, he doesn’t just walk me over, he walks me into the station and onto the platform and Sleepyhead, poor guy, waits until my train comes (and I mean waits, because it’s the G train).

Wow. Really nice guy. Clearly trying. Total gentleman.

Talk about dating unavailable men. I can hear my mother now. And my sister. After my sister stops laughing at me.

Please let the next one stay awake.

(Total Number of Dates: One)