Lydia and I met thanks to a quiz, the multiple-choice OkCupid personality assessment, which asks for your thoughts on matters like “Would a nuclear Holocaust be exciting?” (that’s a “no” from me) and then matches you with those you’re least likely to hate.

Our first date was for drinks on a Monday night after a workday I had spent trying not to throw up from anxiety. It would be my first-ever date with a woman, made approximately 10 days after I came out to friends as “not straight, but I’ll get back to you on exactly how much” at the age of 28.

I had sent Lydia the first message, asking to read the gay Harry Potter fanfic she had mentioned in her profile. She asked me out shortly afterward. I was excited to meet her, but it was all happening so fast (if you don’t include the 28 confused years preceding it).

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Until then, I had assumed I was straight; I was just really, really bad at it. I’d never had a boyfriend or even slept with a man, and I didn’t particularly like going on dates with men or hanging out with them, but I thought that was normal — all of my friends constantly complained about the guys they were dating.