When it comes to dating, I am usually the one with the more
extraordinary journey, heading out of the house hours before the agreed upon
time and schlepping over to Vancouver via ferry and car. But this time Roland
had me beat. He was flying in.
When Roland first messaged me on Plenty of Fish, I was
immediately skeptical. I replied by saying I was a ferry ride away from Vancouver
and two ferries away from his home on Vancouver Island. But rather than going
to fade out, Roland responded by suggesting we meet in Vancouver, a halfway
point of sorts—I’d go the familiar ferry route while he planned to arrive by
float plane.
Well, okay. I must admit that the set-up sounded romantic. I
pictured us as one of those older couples in the vignettes of “When Harry Met
Sally.” He came by plane, I came by boat. What’s a little distance?
But, of course, that is getting several decades ahead of
myself. We still had to get through the first date.
I had reason to be optimistic. At the very least, Roland had
impeccable timing. His initial message came right after I stumbled upon my
adorable and definitely taken family doctor on a trip to Whistler. The
encounter had thrown me into a fit of envy and a whiny state of unfulfilled
entitlement. Why can’t I find me a
gentle, hunky doctor?
Roland just so happened to be a doctor. More importantly,
he’d written a thoughtful profile and was articulate in his messages. (By
contrast, another would-be suitor who first messaged me within five minutes of
Roland, ends every run-on sentence with “he he he”, “ha, ha, ha” or a should-be-forever-banned-from-all-discourse
“LOL.”)
Our date was supposed to be a week ago, but Roland cancelled
when friends from Calgary showed up. At the time my mind naturally went to “The
Brady Bunch”. Remember that episode when Greg advised Marcia to back out of a
date by saying, “Something suddenly came up”? No?! Am I the only one whose
childhood was shaped by syndicated sitcoms? Such a shame...
The week’s delay gave me too much time to think. As much as
I repressed our “When Harry Met Sally” cameo, I couldn’t help but entertain the
idea of dating a doctor in Victoria. He’d fly to me, I’d fly to him. Would they
allow my dog on the float plane? I barely held it together aboard large
aircraft; how would I handle being on a wobbly toy plane? Every dream has a
little turbulence.
I checked my messages when I woke up, bracing for another
something suddenly coming up. Nothing. The date was on.
I took an early ferry in so I could meet up with my friend
Ron at a farmers’ market. As much as Ron and I have in common, I don’t talk to
him about dating. He is completely indifferent on the subject. In the eighteen
years I’ve known him, he has never been in a relationship, has never groused
about men or pined for a date. As far as I can tell, his one true love is
sushi. So when I casually told him what I was doing later on, I was taken aback
by his enthusiasm. “Oh, that’s great! A doctor! From Victoria!” And that’s when
it became clear that, while I was excited about a guy, he was more enthused
about a dead queen. “It’s perfect! I can come visit you guys! Victoria!” Fortunately,
Ron’s mind (and stomach) drifted to other matters. On the ride back to Ron’s,
he downed an entire bag of fresh cherry tomatoes. “These are the sweetest
tomatoes I’ve ever had! I have to go back for more. They’re amazing! This is
the highlight of my week!” That’s when it dawned on me that Ron was cheating on
sushi.
Distraction over, I headed to the float plane terminal. Long-range
visions were replaced by imagining our first moment. What should I say? Would a
handshake be too formal? A hug too friendly? Coffee dates were so much easier.
I always arrived early, got my coffee and settled in a booth.
As I idled at a traffic light, my phone rang. The screen
displayed a Victoria number. Roland called to say his flight was delayed due to
fog in Victoria. Subsequent calls and texts kept me apprised of further delays
and cancellations. Finally, he texted, “Should I give up?”
Where’s the romance in that? I let him know that my dog and
I were content sitting at Kits Beach, with me starting a new book and the pooch
enjoying some prime butt sniffing. Fog schmog. This was one medical appointment
I would will to happen.
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