Two weeks should mean nothing now. I’ve had long-term relationships—up to seven or eight years at least. But considering the dearth of second dates in recent years, maybe a third time out merits another celebration. Frozen yogurt if not ice cream. Why not? And, of course, some euphemistic fireworks would be most welcome, too. Sparklers for starters. Should I hope for more?
This is my last day in Vancouver for a while. The extended vacation begins tomorrow. Tim and I will be in separate countries. I am still excited about my trip. I bounce at the thought. But thoughts of Tim generate the same reaction.
I am going into this date trying to be in the moment. Let it be what it will be. Still, it is hard not to press for more. Everything is in the early stages, but there is a desire to further define it. What are we? Where are we? Where will we be when I return in six weeks? Realistically, I don’t think any of those questions can be answered, but still I ask them. It would be best to keep them as in-the-head queries rather than on-the-table probes. Let’s see how much restraint I have.
The plan is for a walk and dinner. In anticipation, I should keep my mind on lighter third-date questions. Like why did my hairstylist make my hair so poufy? Am I too old to be wearing a shirt this tight? When again do you add a tongue to a kiss? Yes, these questions are plenty superficial. In my twenties, they would have been all-consuming during the pre-date hours. Now they are amusing distractions. Just what I need for now.