WAVING FLAGS

Sometimes you date someone and everything feels right. Well, almost right. In the early stages, things are awkward enough as nagging questions trigger insecurities.

Should I have ordered something without garlic?

Is he even going to kiss me?

What if he’s only going out with me so he has something to blog about?!

More questions than answers. That’s part of what makes us a glorious mess on and in between the first dates. But some questions are bigger than others. Sometimes red flags pop up.

Damn flags. They are lovely at the Olympics and in parades. A particular red flag arouses pride if you’re an Albanian or Turkish patriot. But keep those flags away from the already navigationally challenging dates. A red flag screams DANGER. It’s the equivalent to the skull and crossbones on particularly potent household cleaners. Poison.

Game over.

Unless. The ever-hopeful and/or the dating-desperate try to deal with the flags. Yank ‘em. Burn ‘em. Pretend they’re not there.

My most recent attempt at dating revealed two potential red flags. The relationship did a fade-out before I had to deal with them. Alas, they are now only hypothetical reds.

The first flag appeared on our third or fourth date, a lovely movie and dinner evening. The movie had been surprisingly entertaining and our conversation flowed freely at the trendy Italian restaurant in my neighborhood. Matthew had a way of making me laugh and this occasion was no exception. But then he slipped in a stunner. “You should know I’m positive.”

Stupid me. I leaned forward in my chair, waiting for him to finish the sentence. Positive about what? About us?

He repeated himself. “I’ve been positive since 1985. But I’m on meds and undetectable.”

Oh. Okay. Sure.

I’d like to think I was immediately open and accepting. But I’ve never carried off a poker face. Theoretically, I’ve never had a problem with anyone’s HIV status. But this was no longer theoretical. This was real. This was now.

Matthew had more experience with this. Thirty years. Within a few minutes, he excused himself and went to the restroom. It gave me a moment to collect my thoughts. The news was unexpected. But not a deal breaker. I probed further when he returned, allowing him to share his story. “I’m okay with it,” I said. “I’ll just have questions to work through.”

Our dinner conversation moved on to other topics, a mix of getting-to-know-you anecdotes, questioning and humor. Matthew referred to sleep apnea and joked about some sexy apparatus he wore on his head when going to bed. (My mind flashed to Meg Ryan’s Walter in “Sleepless in Seattle”.) Fine. We’d make this amusing. But then he mentioned smoking marijuana as part of his ready-for-bed ritual.

Red flag #2.

When it comes to drugs, I’ve lived a sheltered life. I may be the only adult on the planet who has never tried pot or anything else. Never wanted to. Hate the smell of it. And I like to be in control. I want full and normal brain function. A crossword puzzle is all I need to get mellow. A rerun of “Friends” is sufficient to give me the giggles. (Or this.)

On two subsequent dates, the references to marijuana came up again. I tried not to cringe. I have no desire to spend my time with a pothead. I made the mistake of falling for a cigarette smoker years ago. The nicotine, not me, was what he needed as his first and last breath each day. Any habitual smoking of any kind is a no-go.

So two red flags. Which was the bigger issue?

My friends were divided. Twenty years ago, both flags may have been deal breakers. But maybe not. Knowing someone’s HIV status, one can take the necessary safety precautions. The pot habit will always be an issue.

Not that either flag matters. As Joey from "Friends" would say, it's a moo point. Matthew couldn’t fit me in his schedule. The dating just suddenly stopped. I suppose he had a few red flags of his own.

Up in Smoke

While I have no statistical evidence, it seems that cigarette smoking is less common as one heads west across North America and as one ventures into more urban areas. I can't get much farther west where I live unless I go to Vancouver Island. I only know one person in my broad social circle who smokes. I suppose I take it for granted that people I'm in contact with in Vancouver will be nonsmokers.

Maybe that explains my failure to read the not-so-fine print in the online profile of someone who sent me a message of interest. We exchanged several messages and had two positive dates. It wasn't until I picked up Hal at the ferry terminal that I smelled smoke. Even before the hug, the scent hit me from his shirt. Turns out Hal is a smoker. It was stated in his profile--I later went back and read that he had indicated "Occasionally" beside the "Smoker?" line. How stupid that I missed that!

Should smoking be a big deal?

Fifteen years ago, I tried being flexible and I dated a smoker for a year and a half. I resented the fact that a cigarette was the first and last thing to touch his lips each day. I hated the interruptions during arguments when, due to the stress, my ex had to take a smoke break on the balcony. A warm embrace never felt so good with my head buried in his smoke-scented jacket or shirt. I never got used to riding in his car, trying to draw my breath from the air coming in through the rolled down window.

Compromise is necessary in any relationship, but being with a smoker simply made me feel badly about myself. I have honed a healthy lifestyle focused on regular, intense fitness and a vegetarian diet. I have heeded every directive ever given by a doctor. Being with a smoker didn't--and doesn't--jive with how I want to live.

With the third date altered at the moment of greeting, I found myself struggling to get through the long visit. There were many positive things about Hal and yet I started picking out the negatives--the louder than normal speaking voice, the style of his clothing, the nose from side profile--as if to give me more reason to end things beyond the fact that he smoked. I was also hard on myself. Had I read closely, a first date wouldn't have even occurred. I am certain of this because I reviewed this dilemma with another online messenger who contacted me at the same time as Hal. (When it rains, it pours. I know to expect an online drought next.) As much as I appreciated Chris' wit, his love for animals and his positive attitude about life, the smoking shut down any chance for a first date.

After Hal caught a later ferry home, I continued to question myself. Am I being too picky? The last four guys I've dated have all been interested in me and I've said no to each on the third or fourth date. Am I like the characters on Seinfeld, grasping for any reason to dismiss a budding relationship? When I'm single and seventy, will I look back and still think I made the right move in dumping a funny, attractive, caring man--who happened to be a smoker--when he clearly wanted a longterm relationship? I'm telling myself I'd have no regrets, but hindsight doesn't come after a day.

Coincidentally, when I reread Hal's profile to confirm that he had indeed stated he was a smoker, I clicked on one new profile. The guy included the following as part of his statement: Not particular on ethnicity although smokers (and yes even those "quitting") must EXIT here. The guy was far younger than I, yet much clearer on what he didn't want. I don't like sounding negative, mentioning what I don't want, but I see that being direct might make things much easier in the long run.

[Incidentally, the model in the first ad, Alan Landers, died of cancer at 68.]