Fireworks

Much to my surprise, I got a text just a few hours after I practically ran out of Sgt. Younger's house.

"Hey! I had a really great time last night. :-)"

Awww.  He wasn't going to drop me like I was hot!  Another surprise: he wanted to make plans in advance, and he actually followed through over the next few days to call me and make arrangements.  He wanted to have a BBQ on the 4th of July, and then go see some fireworks.  He'd invite his buddies, cook up a bunch of meat, and it would be summer fun for everyone.  Somehow, I managed to check myself and not start baking immediately.  Instead, I asked him what I could bring, and he suggested a watermelon, but not to worry about cutting it because he had knives.  Umm, okay? 

The day came, and we hadn't talked about getting together at any specific time.  In my regular life, this lack of a plan would drive me nuts, but I was trying out being flexible and spontaneous and not stressing out about not knowing details.  I went about my To Do list for the day.  Early afternoon, he texted me to let me know a BBQ wasn't going to work out--his friends had evidently gone out the night prior and weren't up for a daytime party.  He seemed frustrated that they weren't up for his idea.  But, we made an actual plan to meet up at his place and go see the fireworks on Auditorium Shores.  This plan, even though it had an a real time and location, was not my favorite.  The last time I'd been to Auditorium Shores for the fireworks, I'd been in college, and it wasn't a fun time at all:  fight traffic to get there, look all over the place for parking, see 20 minutes worth of fireworks, sit in major traffic to get home.  But he seemed so excited about it that I rallied. 

Of course, there was barely any traffic, and parking was pretty easy (in the location I'd looked up and found in advance on the internet, yay for planning!).  We walked over to the Shores, and talked about how sometimes the National Anthem makes us teary-eyed.  He said it hadn't affected him until he was in the service, but now it happened pretty much every time.  Oh, Sgt.!  I was crushing hard on the kid. 

He must have known.  As we waited for the show to start, we talked about what the Fourth was like in his hometown, and about his upcoming trip there.  He was really excited to see his extended family and friends, go sailing and fishing. 

And then he said, "It would be really fun if you went with me to Hometown." 

Wh. . .Wha. . .WHAT THE WHAT?  I fought to keep my expression neutral.  I may have failed; I don't know if my eyebrows were actually so high they were scraping my browline, but it may have been close.  We were on our fifth date.  Date six or seven does not equal week-long vacation to see family, RIGHT?

"Yeah," I responded casually, "That would be really fun."

"Of course, plane tickets are probably super expensive right now since I'm leaving on Monday." 

Except I have a bunch of free airline miles.  Shut up, self.  SHUT UP.

"You're probably right."

And we started talking about something else.  Was this some sort of test?  Was I some sort of sexpert and now he was totally in love with me?  I didn't know what I wanted with Sgt. Younger, other than more time to get to know him and figure out what I wanted with him.  Were suggestions like this just the way he made conversation?

Twenty minutes (ish) of fireworks, and we headed back to the car.  Sure enough, we sat in traffic in the parking garage for 45 minutes.  But you know what's a good way to spend 45 minutes in a dimly lit parking garage?  Eating the small container of watermelon I'd brought along, and asking him to tell me his secrets.  It's easier to tell your stories when it's almost dark, and when you're not looking directly at someone, isn't it?

He told me about his crazy ex-girlfriend.  They dated for a few years after he moved to Austin, they lived together, she was Crazy.  He had such a hard time at that point in his life he "had to talk to a guy."  Like, get counseling?  Bravo for him, and extra kudos for admitting that.

Back at his place, we changed into swimsuits and went for a swim.  We had the pool to ourselves, and we leaned against one side, submerged to our shoulders.  He told me more stories, about his family--his brother who had lost his way growing up, and still wasn't on a good path.  I felt close to him, and not just because we were practically naked on a dark summer night.  I asked him to tell me his secrets, and he actually was!  He talked about going to college after the Marines, and how he plowed through a hard time working, going to school, studying, and dealing with the crazy ex.  At one point, probably when I was still swooning over his use of the word "facetious," he said something that made me think he had only recently started dating again.  He hadn't been dating over the past couple of years?  At all? I'm still not sure if I understood him correctly.

After our (hanky panky-free) swim, we changed back into dry clothes.  It was late, and we both had work the next day.  I started gathering my stuff to leave, taking my time in case he wanted to ask me to stay.  Instead, he gave me the Best Hug Ever.  Accompanying Best Hug Ever was a series of small, closed-mouth kisses on my cheek, neck, and mouth.  I couldn't figure out the tiny kisses.  Was he teasing me? (Hot.) Was he being silly? (Confusing.) Was he making his way towards Best Kiss Ever (that would certainly make me tear my own clothes off?)?  I backed out of Best Hug, and asked him what was going on.  He told me he felt like he was getting a cold, and didn't want to give me any germs.  I told him I didn't care about germs, and snuggled back up for more good hugging.  I felt like he wanted more; I felt it against my leg.  But after a few more minutes of hugging and tiny kisses, he stepped back, put his hands on my shoulders, and said "I have to say goodnight. I'll walk you out to your car."

If this was Sgt. Younger's signature move, I was in trouble.  Because it was working: I was really starting to like him like him.

Yes, That Happened

I decided bootleg booze was a requirement for watching the movie "Ted."  I have an enormous purse, a big "water" bottle, and I remembered that Sgt. Younger had expressed a new-found love of Sweet Tea Vodka, so before I went over to his place that Friday night, I prepared.  Most people mix up their STV drinks at a 50/50 ratio with lemonade, right?

At his place, he was really excited that I'd thought ahead to bring booze.  As he poured us a drink to enjoy while we chatted, I realized it was maybe not my best idea ever to feed booze to the person driving me around for the evening.  Huh.  Did not think that through.  Perhaps he was thinking ahead, though, because he got out a small cooler and stowed the booze in his trunk.  He said we would save it for later, and I briefly wondered:  just what are we doing later?

I had very low expectations for Ted, so that's probably why I was pleasantly surprised.  Or the movie was just another in a long line of movies where I found a sweet-faced foul-talking character funny: see also "Role Models."  Maybe I'm just a 12 year-old boy at heart.  Of course, I also had two pints of beer during the movie, on top of the STV I'd enjoyed with Sgt. earlier in the evening, so it's possible I was a little drunk.  I also might have been high on personal contact--Sgt. Younger had his hand on my knee/leg during most of the movie and he'd give me the occasional light rub or little squeeze. 

After the movie, he suggested we adjourn to a bar.  Of course!  Because I needed more to drink?  No.  We were going to consume the booze in his trunk?  No.  We thought it would be fun to check out the late-night karaoke scene at a bar in our neighborhood, a place that was well-known (to me) as an excellent weird people watching spot.  Sadly, the bar closed early that night.  At least, it was closed when we arrived, and I realized that I had not only had no idea what time of night it was, I didn't care.  We moved along to the bar closest to my house, and played a game of pool before heading back to his place.

He invited me inside, and suggested that it would be a good time to finish off the booze.  When bars are closed, you drink booze at home. Right? I told him I could have one drink, and we sat down at his table to listen to some of his music on his laptop.  I got my iPod out of my car, and played him a few songs I thought he'd like.  I also had to face the cringe-worthy aspects of my music collection; how did he go straight to the Glee cast section so quickly?

It was at this point in the evening that I realized sunrise might not be too many hours off.  Sgt. Younger also got quiet, and told me he was pretty tired.  I jumped up from my seat at his table, not wanting to overstay my welcome, and told him I was going to go.  He tipped his chair back, stretched, and told me he wanted me to stay.

Wait. . .what?  I know I gave him a perplexed look.  I had a lot of thoughts, all jumbled together:  stay like a slumber party where we're going right to sleep because we're really tired?  Stay like now is the time when we get naked?  We've barely even kissed standing up, wouldn't we be skipping (a bunch of) steps?  Are we going to have some sort of talk right now?  Is there any booze left because this might be a situation where I could use a little liquid courage?  What am I talking about, I can't have a drink and then drive myself home, even if it is only five minutes away?

I felt like he was expecting a response other than my "huh?!" face.  So I told him I needed to use his facilities.  When in doubt, take a pee break?  Yes, this was a sensible move. 

But as I started to walk across the room, he stood up and met me halfway to the bathroom.  And when I say "met me," I mean he took me in his arms and nearly kissed all my clothes off.  I have no idea if this is a skill all Marines know (but I am willing to do additional research into that theory) or if he'd just become some sort of make-out master through years of practice.  Either way:  WHOA. 

Except by this point, I actually did have to pee.  I somehow backed away from him slightly, and said something (probably) witty and delightful like "I seem to have gotten lost on my way to the ladies room."  I went into the bathroom, took care of pressing business, and gave myself a stern look in the mirror while I washed my hands.  "Hey lady," the voice in my head warned me, "you are in uncharted waters.  Proceed with caution."

The voice in my head is smart.  The only fella I'd slept with since my divorce was a guy who I ended up having a year and a half relationship with. We'd gone on 17 dates before we finally had sex, and we'd had all sorts of conversations about taking it slow and birth control.  Before that guy, well, it had been at least 10 years since I'd been out in the dating world.  Uncharted waters, indeed.

Back in the living room, Sgt. Younger had put on his shirt and buttoned it up.  In fact, he was sitting down, and stood up when I came out.  I smiled at him, but before I could say anything, he came over to me and gave me a hug.  Sgt. Younger is a world-class hugger.  He is Winner and Still Champion at Hugging Me.  This hug he gave me wasn't the best hug he ever gave me, but it was good enough that I knew if hugging was an Olympic sport, he would win gold.  I can't precisely describe it, but this almost best hug ever started with a good long squeeze, his arms tight across my mid and lower back.  As he started to gently rub my back slightly, I think he hummed a little "mmmm" right in my ear.  I do know that by the time he was whispering "will you stay?" I could only respond with a nod.  This kid made me weak in the knees (and other places, too).

More kissing, he walked me backwards into his bedroom, clothes flew, the lights were still on, (the lights were still on?!?!!), he addressed the safety issue on my mind with barely a word.  Yadda yadda yadda, he gave me a t-shirt and shorts and we slept for about five hours.

The first thought on my mind when I awoke:  how weird is this going to be right now?  Because I felt pretty weird.  Tired? Check.  Hungover? Check. Assuming that he was probably not going to ever talk to me again because now we'd had sex and what if that was all he was looking for because it's not like I knew since we hadn't had any sort of conversation like that and holy cow I had sex with this kid on our fourth date?  Check.

He asked me if I was thirsty (OMG YES), so he got up to get us some ice water.  While he was in the kitchen, I got dressed, folded the clothes he'd loaned me, and made the bed.  I. . .don't know.  Since my thoughts were so scattered, I felt better about organizing my surroundings.  He laughed a little when he delivered my water, in a "oh, this is borderline nutty or possibly cute" sort of way.  We talked a little bit about his potential plans for the day--some sort of beer festival with a buddy.  He asked me what I was doing later, and I said "going to bed before 4 am, for sure."  Was he asking me because he wanted to see me that night?  Was he just making conversation?  I am sure I could've been more normal right then, but I wasn't.

I told him I had to get going, and he gave me a hug, and I left.  Goodbye, Sgt. Younger, maybe forever.

Letters, Unsent

Dear Hot Guy at the Gym:

You rounded the corner on the gym track at a good, quick pace: knees high and arms pumping. Glistening with a light sheen of sweat, you stuck to the outside lane and easily passed everyone in your wake.

But you seemed to drift by slow motion movie style, in my mind's eye.  My mouth fell open slightly as soon as I saw you, and I barely heard the collective gasp of all the women in the area over my own sharp intake of breath.

Da-yum.  You, sir, are a hot piece of man meat.  Fella, you aren't just "hot guy at the gym," you may be "hottest guy I've ever seen in person."

Thank you for never letting your attention waver off the track ahead of you as you raced your laps. I felt much more comfortable openly staring at you while your eyes seemed to never stray from straight ahead focus.  I mean, I know I'm no tight little gym hottie, but I have seen women there who I'm pretty sure are actual strippers.  And yet, not even a flicker of a glance.

If you want to go ahead and show up at the gym again sometime when I'm there, I will welcome the opportunity to openly gawk at you again.  Feel free to never talk to me, so that I can imagine you are not only totally hot, but also really smart and kind and funny and fantastic.  And single and secretly into me.  Okay, not that last part, because if I actually thought all of those things, I would totally make a fool of myself for you--running after you on the track, trying to form words in your presence--and I think we both know I'm borderline there already.

XO,
Me

Dear Original Hot Guy at the Gym:

I haven't seen you in nearly a week, and I miss you.  Did you see me drooling over Super Hot, and now you think I won't be sneaking glances your way during your weightlifting routine?  Don't be silly.  We have history, dontcha know?

I saw you for the first time during my first training session.  I was performing some ridiculous maneuver designed by Trainer Girl to maximize how goofy I look while still straining my puny muscles to their limit.  So, hopefully you didn't notice me there, admiring you and wondering if you might consider taking your shirt off for my viewing pleasure.  Do you think there are rules about that at the gym?  There aren't at my house.

I noticed you working out when I went in to each of my next few training sessions, and I secretly delighted in our matching schedules.  Of course, I was embarrassed when you came by to say hello to another trainer while I stood there getting my body fat measured.  Yes, I handled that feeling of shame by grinning like an idiot.  That's why I could barely look at you while you and that guy talked about your short new haircut (love) and how easy it is for you to get ready in the morning.  I definitely probably did not think about how long it takes you to soap up all over while Trainer Girl pinched my hip fat.

The other day, when I you opened up the door to the gym for me--the door you were on your way out--and I said "thanks!"?  I meant "please feel free to talk to me, handsome younger brother of Christian Bale, I am crushing on you so hard."  I saw the suit you were carrying out with you gym bag. Was that a prop designed to make you seem even hotter?  Working.

Remember the last time we saw each other?  I was stretching against the wall after my "run", and happened to turn around right as you turned around from. . .your piece of gym equipment I cannot identify, mere yards away from me.  I thought we locked eyes for a second, so I gave you a tiny smile.  Were you also smiling at me?  We each turned back around then, and continued with our tasks at hand.  We were at the gym later than usual, that night.  I haven't seen you since.

Original Hot Guy at the Gym, let's get back on the same schedule. Let's get on a schedule where you talk to me, and you're awesome, and we take our meet-ups outside the gym.  I'm really looking forward to this.

Sincerely,
Moi

Last Chance?

After our lake date, I didn't hear from Sgt. Younger for a few days.

I wondered:  was the sight of me in a swimsuit so terrifying that he didn't want to see me in person (in clothes) again?  Had he decided he'd seen enough (of my skin) and didn't ever want to see more of my ghostly pale flesh?

Insecurities raged.  I also considered the slim possibility that he might be waiting to hear from me.  Maybe he didn't want to always be the one getting in touch?  Perhaps I, for once, might initiate contact?  Sometimes, it's hard to remember that in dating, like the regular world, I can and probably should communicate like a normal person.

So, I texted him. 

Me:  Hey!  I had a great time on the boat with you on Saturday!  Hope you finally caught up on your sleep. Having a good week?

Him:  hey there! Finally rested up, been really busy this week.

Me:  (waits for more)

Him:  (nothing more)

Me:  So, was our last date our last date?  Or do you want to find a time to get together again?

Him:  (takes his sweet time responding) (tricky bastard)

Him:  I would like to go out again.  How about a movie Thursday or Friday?

Me: (Ugh, what is with this kid and the movie dates?)  Sure! Sounds fun.

Him:  Okay, I'll figure out some options and get back to you.

Me:  Great!  (I am resisting the immense urge to google movie times and make suggestions because I always like to have a plan! Instead, I am so chilled out!  (I am not chilled out at all!))  I'll look forward to hearing from you!

The next evening, he texted me again:

Him:  Thursday is out, I have a late meeting.  I guess we'll go on Friday, okay?

Me:  (Thank you for your enthusiasm about seeing me again. Not.)  Sounds good!

Me:  (waits for him to respond with options.)

Me:  (I would like some options now please.)

Me:  (For the love of all that's holy, can we please make a freakin' plan?)

Me:  I looked up some options, what do you think about blahblahcrappychoices?

Him:  Let's go with (some option I don't remember).

Me:  Great!  Looking forward to it!  (Holds self back from purchasing tickets in advance. So what if they're sold out when we get there?  I am so relaxed about this!)

Thursday evening:

Him:  Hey, I was just trying to buy tickets online, and (rando choice) is sold out. 

Me:  Hey!  Thanks for thinking in advance to buy tickets!  (NO REALLY, thank you!!!!!)  We would've been bummed to show up tomorrow and not get in, I bet.  I'm looking at other options. . .what about Ted?

Him:  Oh right, the movie with the talking bear!  Seth Green did that movie, I bet it's funny.

Me:  (Isn't Seth Green that ginger actor from Austin Powers?  I don't think that's who you mean.  I bet it's terrible.)  Let's find out! 

Him:  It will either be hilarious or awful, right?

Me:  (Yes, it will be awful.)  Yes, totally!  Either way, fun for all!

Him:  Got the tickets. Come over an hour before, and we'll go from here.

Me:  Sounds good!

With a plan in place for our fourth date, I actually did chill out.  He wanted to see me again!  ::twirls::

Got My Flippy Floppies On

A few minutes after I got home from our second date, I got a text from Sgt. Younger:

Thanks again for dinner, I had a great time tonight.  Goodnight!

"Awww," I thought, "he's sweet."  I went to bed.

I woke up the next morning and discovered he'd sent a second text, a couple of hours later--sometime after 2am:

So I hope you made it home okay.  Let me know.

Oh, crap.  CRAP.  I am a horrible dater, and a thoughtless person.  Surely he didn't stay awake wondering and worrying about me?  I knew he was an insomniac, so I assumed/hoped that was the case.  Why didn't I just respond to his text?  I hurried to reply:

Hey!  Sorry, just saw your text; my phone was on vibrate.  I made it home just fine, hope you got some sleep.  I had a really fun time last night & hope to see you again soon. Have a great day!

We texted a couple of times that week, and made tentative plans to get together that Saturday.  He called me Friday afternoon, and had a choice of plans:  grill dinner at his place and then go two-steppin' or meet up with his friend (who had out of town guests? or who was in town for the weekend? unclear) and go out on his boat.  I could tell he wanted me to pick the friend option, since the boat occasion seemed like something different than the usual Saturday, so I agreed.  And then freaked out about the idea of wearing a swimsuit in front of him.  A swimsuit is basically underwear, right?  Even if I wore a one-piece, it was all fitted and skin-showing and pretty much almost naked.  Almost naked on a third date was not in my life plan.

Saturday morning I got up early, drove to the swimsuit store, and threw myself on the mercy of the saleslady.  I explained that I was going on a third date ON A BOAT and needed to feel something other than OMGI'MNUDEDON'TLOOKATME.  She helped me pick out a ton of options, and I spend 30 or so humiliating minutes in the dressing room squeezing in and out of tankinis.  At least it kept my mind off the idea that Sgt. Younger's friends and/or girlfriends--all probably many years younger and several shades tanner than me--would all be judging me later that afternoon.  I finally found a swimsuit that I hoped would direct attention appropriately:  here are my boobs, don't look at my aging pale slightly jello-y thighs. 

Around noon, he texted me and asked if I could come over at 1:30.  We'd go from his place, and maybe later we could eat dinner somewhere on the lake and then go dancing.  That is a lot of things!  I decided to deal only with lake + dinner, and deal with the idea of shower/getting ready/dancing later as needed.  My ability to not worry about this lack of a plan impressed me.  Evidently, my brain was still consumed with horror about my body being nearly naked on a boat. 

I arrived at his place, and he came out to my car to meet me.  He was a little sweaty, and almost disheveled.  He explained that he'd gone out for a burger and beer with his friends the night before, and it had turned into an all-night drinking party.  He'd had just a few hours of sleep, was totally hungover, and hadn't eaten anything since Friday night.  He said he told his friends that he didn't want to stay out late because he had a great date planned for the next day, but apparently that is code to other former military guys to make their friend regret making Saturday plans.  I could tell he was trying to rally, but that was doing little to counteract how secretly annoyed I felt with him for acting cranky and feeling a little ill.  Our conversation in the car was stilted, at best.  Even when we started making "damn" jokes as we drove over Mansfield Dam. 

Upon arrival at the. . .ramp where the boat goes in the water? dock? lake park? I met Billy and Sally.  Turns out Billy is a long-time friend of Sgt. Younger's, and a former (current?) neighbor.  I assumed Sally was Billy's girlfriend.  I was surprised to note that Billy was probably at least 40, and Sally was. . .maybe a little older than that?  Or maybe she'd just lived hard.  She did talk about a daughter in college, growing up at/in/near a Canadian marina, and her current (second) part-time job working at Victoria's Secret.  We drove around and around the lake in the boat, until we were practically melted to the seats begging Billy for relief, and finally anchored for a swim.  Sgt. and I got out of the water before the others, who had floated a little further out and who I didn't want to observe too closely--they seemed to be swimming pretty close together.  We sat on the back of the boat and talked about Sgt's home town in the NE, how he grew up on the ocean and in a sail boat, and how he was planning a week-long trip home in a couple of weeks.  I'd almost forgotten about the canoodling couple in the water, when Billy climbed up the ladder with the fly on his khaki shorts open.  Ewww. Yes, he wore khaki shorts instead of a swim suit.  Just like the Crocodile Hunter.

After another long drive around the lake, we arrived back at the dock ramp close to dark.  As the fellas coordinated hooking the boat up to Billy's truck and getting it out of the water, Sally and I had a few minutes to talk.  She asked me how long we'd been dating, and I told her it was our third date.  Turns out it was her and Billy's second date--their first had been the night before.  (This brought up a lot of questions I left unasked.)  She told me they'd connected via match online dating a year prior, had emailed and become facebook friends, but never met until now.  Huh.  She said she'd been worrying about some BFF and his GF judging her all day.  It's like we were the same person!  (We were so not the same person.)

We all said our goodbyes and walked back to the car.  Sgt. asked if I still wanted to get dinner, and I told him it was "manager's choice."  I knew he must have been feeling pretty terrible in hangover land by then, but wanted to see how he handled it.  He gave me a weird look and asked if I was the manager in this scenario.  (Oh, right. Sgt. doesn't know the lingo I used with my former boyfriend.)  I let him know that I meant he was the manager, since he'd planned our day.  He told me he felt like we should probably just call it a day, and we went back to his place, and my car.  He gave me a quick hug, a brief peck of a kiss, and said goodnight.

I was home by 9pm on our Saturday night date.  So much for dinner and dancing. 

Stuff I Read on the Internet

The House that Hova Built : "When Jay raps, it pours right in your ear like water from a tap."

The Perils of Being a Blind Athlete : "But how do you run if you can't see?"

Tiny Castles of Doom : "A practical, no-shit bucket list. . ."  I need to make one of these.

How to be Handsome : ". . .they must look their prettiest at all times."

Ten Other Products for Her : "The Tick-Tock!"

1979 Victoria's Secret Catalog : ". . .features a drab interior resembling a grandmother's house."

 

Comin' In Fast, Over Me

Sgt. Younger and I talked about having children on our second date.

Maybe I had mentioned my nephews, maybe he'd said something about one of his many cousins--I don't know.  But the next thing I knew, I'd reveled that my maternal grandmother was a twin, and he said his was too and I was blushing and flustered and a question bubble hung over our table like a bright red neon sign:

"What if we have twins?" 

"What if WE have twins?"

"What if we have TWINS?"

What the F(udge) is more like it; this was our second date.  I didn't even know his last name. 

After dinner (Mexican food, and I accidentally rendered him speechless by grabbing the check before he could), we adjourned to a bar in our neighborhood to play pool.  Of course, he didn't know the bar was within walking distance of my house due to the stranger danger.  I am pretty unclear on the rules of dating strangers, but I'd guessed that it while it was okay to reveal that we shopped at the same grocery store, I should still keep my address secret.  We live less than five minutes apart.

Obviously, I spent most of our pool game bent over with my ass pointed at him.  I thought that was a good compliment to occasionally sliding up right next to him, leaning the entire length of the side of my body against him, and asking him for advice on my pool shots.  Of course it was difficult to pay attention to his answers because we were drinking, and also OMGwearetouchingsomucheeee! 

He walked me out to my car at the end of the evening, and I wondered if he was going to press his face against my ear again.  I was hoping that first time was accidental, because even though it wasn't creepy, it was certainly a little weird.  Instead, he gave me a soft kiss on the cheek.  As he started to let go of me, he planted a small kiss right on my mouth.  Time for my signature move:  I pulled back a little, let my nose slightly graze his, paused, and leaned back in to give him a kiss.  We made out for maybe a minute, in a "oh right, don't forget we're in the semi-dark of a bar parking lot at 1am" sort of way.  (So, no groping.) 

As he let me go, he said "I think we're going to have a lot of fun together."

Wha. . .? ? ?

From the Cupboard Under the Stairs

We met at a speed dating event.*

During our three minutes together on the semi-dark patio of Freddie's, he told me that he was addicted to playing basketball, and that his love of the game had turned into an opportunity to get really good at being on crutches.  In fact, he said, if crutching was an Olympic sport, he thought he'd be a lock for the gold medal.  Also (I asked), he's 6'1".

I'd lowered my standards appropriately once I got a sense of who exactly I was meeting during that particular speed dating event, and since he was tall enough and showcased a pretty good sense of humor, I turned in his dater number at the end of the event.  I'd bought a coupon for the event, after all, I though I should at least go through with the attempt to get a date.

Forty-eight hours later, the speed dating website revealed that several fellas had chosen me.  Only one was listed as "mutual," meaning he received access to email address.  Except. . .I didn't recognize the guy in the photo.  I mean, I recognized him from the movie posters, but not from the patio at Freddie's. 

That's right, he looked like Harry Potter, boy wizard.  Not even older-teenage-nearly-cute-like-a-kid-brother Harry Potter.  No, tween Harry Potter.  In his photo, he even wore round glasses. 

Since I knew I wasn't drunk at the speed dating event, I suspected I may have turned in an incorrect dater number.  Even though this Harry Potter fellow and Champion Crutcher had the same first name.  I decided to wait and see if he contacted me.

About a week later, I was surprised to receive an email from him.  He didn't make any wand jokes, and seemed pleasant enough.  We agreed to meet for dinner in a few days.

At dinner, he seemed nervous--or shifty.  He barely looked me in the eyes when he spoke to me, and kept squirming around in his chair.  We talked about how he's vegan at home, not for "saving the earth" reasons, but for health reasons.  He said he eats meat at restaurants, and told me a story about meeting friends recently at Fogo de Chao--all you can eat meat.  He ordered a tuna dish for dinner.

He also revealed that he's involved in a fitness contest with his youngest brother.  They'd designated their family as judges, but decided it would be silly to just take off their shirts and strut around.  No, instead they would face off with competing Matthew McConaughey impressions. 

"Oh really?"  I asked, assuming this was a joke. "So you're going to perform portions of his movies shirtless?"  I smirked: As If; Silly Boys.

No.  Instead he had written scripts for their performance.  Things he thought MMc would do, like perform spoken word "poetry" over music that already has words.  This was not a joke.

I noticed his unusal laugh as our conversation progressed.  The first time he laughed, he covered his mouth with one hand and shook his shoulders up and down.  No noise issued forth.  The second time he laughed, he covered his entire face with both hands.  Next time, he covered his face with his napkin.  By the end of the evening, he put his head right down on the table and rested it there in the crook of his arm while his shoulders shook.  Still no noise, not even a squeak.  His head was down for a good thirty seconds, which doesn't seem like a lot until you're on a date with a guy who is laying down on the table in a restaurant.  I spent probably 25 of those seconds looking around for hidden cameras or even a sympathetic face mirroring my W T F look.  None found.

Our evening ended as he walked me to my car.  He gave me a one-armed hug, but instead of just a quick squeeze, or even a swift back pat, I felt his hand flop around on my back like a fish out of water.  If I didn't know better, I would've though he might've been trying to unsnap my bra.  His hand was doing some sort of squeeze/flip/pat combo I'd never before experienced.  I managed not to flinch. 

He was headed out of town for a 12 day vacation with his family, and by the time I got home he'd sent me a nice email about how much fun he had, how hilarious and delightful I was, and how much he wanted to get together when he got back into town.  I think he was trying to cast a spell on me.

*a story for another time.