When I see you on the dating app, I think, “He’s too handsome. He’ll be horrid.” I sent you a Hello.
In our brief texts we end up wanting to go to the same restaurant. I can’t tell if you are pulling my leg, or if you still pull my leg when you say you also love something I love. But, then, I realize that I am constantly doing the same to you, and I’m not pulling your leg.
I try on three dresses and my friend Margaret chooses the winner. I don’t pay attention, it’s a black dress. And, though cute, it is classically unoriginal, Somehow I know it will be fine with you.
The hostess at Vitello’s host stand smiles as I approach her,
”Hi!” I say, “Reservation for”
She interrupts excitedly.
”I KNOW EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE SITTING.”
How could she possibly? Oh god, she is this excited about my date? Why? She leads me across the restaurant and turns left at the kitchen, bringing me the last back booth. And then I see you, in classic dark suit. My dress is fine. You look more handsome than your profile. I now understand why the waitress was so happy for me.
I say, “We got the best table.”
You say, “That’s what I said when they sat me. I dreamt I lost my wallet and we had to wash dishes at the end of the meal.”
I say, “I just lost my debit card on the way over here, I hope you brought it.”
And instead of horrid you are a joy. I should have known, given you aren’t American. I haven’t dated a CIS White American man in years and likely never will. Key. I’m so glad we have been kind and honest with each other and are still able to be together when we ought to be and apart when we ought to be.
Yours,
Jean
I still enjoy a well-written romance featuring an independent woman. I once imagined living apart together, and fostering artistic creativity, like Simone de Beauvoir and Jean Paul Sartre. Maybe Anais Nin and {pick one} would have been a stretch. As she said "Life shrinks or expands according to one's courage", and I lacked the courage to live apart together. I think we both expended our limited supplies of courage moving across the country, away from family and most friends. We both lacked the courage to separate when we could/should have. Now facing my sunset years as dh's caregiver; trying not to be bitter. My grown children have no idea...
This is so delightful! I’m curious, do you give yourself writing assignments or do you just write when inspired? I seldom write anything creative and when I do, it’s always from a spark. I might be a not bad writer if I practiced at it, but I might be a not bad lots of things if I practiced at them. Sigh.