|This pic fits the blog entry but it also allows for a book plug.|
Track down a copy of Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh.
It's such a unique and satisfying read. Her blog of the same
name is also wonderful but has not been updated in a long time.
And, yes, I did get lucky. Oh, not like that, you gutter thinker. I was simply fortunate to have a lovely seven-hour date. Still, got your mind in the gutter? I’ll tell you it ended with some kissing and me getting literally weak in the knees. That’s always the sign that I’m into something good. (Just so you know, there will be no more kissing and telling from me in the future should more dates occur. I’ve never been that kind of guy.)
Heck, there were good signs prior to the shorty-averted text. On the ferry ride over, I texted to see which of my suggestions from earlier in the week seemed appealing: farmers’ market with his dog joining us or a stroll on Granville Island. His response: “How about both?” Plus a smiley face.
Forget the TV show; this is the ultimate glee.
Texts, however, do not compare to face-to-face. There is no opportunity to edit before sending, no chance to pause for thirty seconds to come up with a witty reply. How could I keep this man interested through something so elusive as a second date?
As the date progressed from farmers’ market to long seawall walk to Granville Island to False Creek mini-ferry to lunch, I kept bracing for goodbye. That’s the old lack of confidence bubbling up. Surely, he’s done. Lost interest. Come to his senses. I would go from Happy to Bashful as I anticipated The End. And yet on we’d go. Still the doubt lingered. Maybe he’s feeling guilty that I keep missing the next ferry sailing. Canadians can be incredibly polite.
During our late lunch, things deepened. The conversation went from interesting information sharing to a discussion of values, past mistakes and disappointments along with new hopes. It was an intimate conversation that I sensed even the wait staff picked up on. Something was truly clicking. We were vulnerable and the attraction intensified. Something good could become something great.
There is a catch. Always seems to be. As we finally stood at my car, we talked of the next date. Tim said, “You’re off to Seattle next weekend, right?” Ah, yes. But that was only partially correct. I’d mentioned that I am taking the train there, but hadn’t mentioned that was only the first leg of my trip. From Seattle, I fly to L.A. and then to Ottawa. I am gone for the next six weeks. I’ve been itching to get away for months. When I’d booked my flights, there was nothing for me here. I wanted to spend every moment of my summer vacation somewhere else. It never dawned on me that Tim would become a possibility.
And so another factor of time gets added to the mix. I know the If it’s meant to be line and, really, six weeks is a mere blip in the long run (should there be a long run). Nonetheless, it is unfortunate. No one wants that kind of gap between early dates.
It is what it is.
For now, I have a second date to savor. That’s a glorious thing.