We had hugged outside her apartment building when she asked to photograph my driver’s license. I thought she was joking. We were supposed to be heading to an art market for our third date, and I hadn’t expected the conversation to stop at my ID.
I’m 30; she’s 28. We’d matched on Hinge about three weeks earlier and been out twice. I’d enjoyed both dates. Conversation came easily, we laughed at similar things, and I was looking forward to spending more time with her. The market was about half an hour outside the city. She’d said getting there was a pain and asked whether I could pick her up. I’d happily agreed.
She explained that this was something she did whenever she got into a car with a man she was dating. She sent a photo of his license to her best friend so someone would know exactly who she was with. It wasn’t a request she’d come up with specifically for me.
I understood wanting someone to have that information. I didn’t expect two good dates to mean she should simply stop being careful. But a picture of my license would include my home address, date of birth, and license number. I didn’t want a copy of all that sitting on the phone of someone I didn’t know.
I told her I was fine with a photo of my car or license plate. She could send her friend my name or share her live location. If none of that made her comfortable, we could meet at the market instead. I wouldn’t take it personally if she wanted to drive herself. In my mind, that left us a way to have the date without either of us agreeing to something we disliked.
She seemed surprised by my refusal. She asked what worried me if I had nothing to hide. I tried to explain that I wasn’t making an accusation; I generally didn’t give people copies of my ID, particularly people I’d met only twice.
Meeting separately didn’t settle it for her. She said the request was a simple safety precaution, and my resistance made her more nervous. As she saw it, a decent man would understand why a woman needed to be careful. What I’d offered as an alternative apparently hadn’t answered her concern about me.
The conversation became awkward. She said she’d rather skip the date, and I accepted that. A plan I’d been excited about had ended before we’d even left her building.
Later that evening, she texted that she didn’t think we were compatible. She needed someone who wouldn’t make her feel guilty for putting her safety first. That was hard to read. I hadn’t intended to make her feel guilty, and I hadn’t wanted her to get into my car against her better judgment. Still, the message made clear that the exchange had landed differently for her.
I keep thinking about how much I’d liked her before that conversation. The easy talk and shared humor were real parts of those first two dates, at least for me. Now the last thing she’s told me is that we aren’t compatible, and I’m left wondering whether offering to meet her there sounded anything like the compromise I meant it to be.
