So it happened, just about the time I got a job, I also started dating. For realsies. Not some Craigs List misadventure. Not a blind a date that ended with me blind drunk. But dating the old fashioned way. I met him over a year ago at my weekly trivia night, and this winter, on the first night of the delayed NHL season, the friendship evolved. That was three months ago. It’s official, I am in a relationship.
Now, let’s be clear. I like being in a relationship. I even throw the term “boyfriend” around, although each time I say it, it feels like I’m wearing an article of clothing that doesn’t quite fit. How long has it been since I’ve had a friend of the male persuasion that goes beyond the platonic? Think the Taft administration.
Anyway. It’s good, it’s fun, it’s weird. Let’s talk about the weight gain. It’s not the “oh I’m finally comfortable I can let myself go” weight gain. It’s the “he’s a really good cook and he cooks for me” weight gain. Now I’m a popcorn and white wine for dinner kind of a girl, but when I get a text message in the middle of the day that says “I’m thinking roast chicken and vegetables for dinner tonight.” What I’m I gonna do? Politely decline?
And now there’s always food in my fridge. Mayonnaise. Vegetables. Chocolate Syrup. Leftovers. Real food. It’s weird.
He’s got all the other excellent qualities a man should have as part of their personality and not just their early best-face, dating selves. He’s kind, considerate, witty, smart, likes to make/eat candy, and lives five blocks from my apartment. He’s delightful, and I’m delightful when I’m with him. In fact when we’re together I feel like I’m in a never ending Cole Porter song. Again. Weird. So of course it happened. I let it happen. I committed the cardinal sin, the one thing I vowed I would never do if/when I was in a relationship…I dropped out.
Now in my own defence, it wasn’t like I was ever really good at returning phone calls or emails. Anyone who knows me is well aware that long before there was the guy more often than not my ringer is off and it could be days, or even weeks before I return an email. I really didn’t think it was that bad until I recently saw a friend who unbeknownst to me had been really sick. Okay, not death bed, but still sick. That’s something I would normally know. I’d check in. I’d offer to make soup, then be relieved when she declined, but still I’d offer. Not this time. I missed the whole thing.
There are siblings whose calls have not been returned, the discovery only a few days before departure that may parents were taking a four week holiday overseas. And then an email arrived, with the subject “Where are you. I have no idea what you are doing?” And no actual message in the body of the email. The nail in the proverbial coffin was when I came to write this post and saw my last entry was in February. Oops.
Here’s to say I’m back and even though I now toss around the pronoun “we” (weird) I want you to rest assured I’m still as bitter as ever. Now excuse me, my salmon teriyaki and wasabi mashed potatoes are ready.