“Good luck Doll” was the message I received. Apparently he interpreted my witty banter (or at least I thought it was witty), as me playing games. My life’s work is now decoding messages I receive from guys I message online. Evidently, my skills need honing.
We got past the misunderstanding, and decided to meet the same night. I’m rushing to choose an outfit that doesn’t look like I tried too hard, when he texts me to tell me he has a gimp. He says if that bothers me, he would understand. Images of a creature attached to his leg fill my head. Doesn’t someone have a limp, which would make you (a word I would never use), a gimp? I decide not to ask for clarification, and proceed with the date.
Since he offered up a pre-date disclosure, I feel the need to ante up. I tell him that I don’t drink, just in case that bothers him. He says it doesn’t but asks why, to which I reply, “It got in the way.”
When I arrive, he’s already there, sitting by the river, at (you guessed it), another Tiki bar. I scan the tables, and spot him spotting me. Uh oh, I suddenly realize we never exchanged information on height. He’s short. And, well… I’m not.
I’m at ease with him right away. He’s smart, self-assured, and listens to me when I answer his questions. He told me about the time he gave anesthesia to Dickey Betts. I’m more interested in the anesthesia than Dickey Betts, and ask if he has any nitrous in the car. He laughed; I don’t think he thought I was serious.
The night is a blur of conversation, laughter, and renewed hope. A friend at work has introduced the concept of a continuum at work, and now I’m thinking about where he sits on the likeability continuum inside my head (damn you Lauren!).
Towards the end of the night, I ask him how he feels about the height difference, and he says it would have bothered him at one time, but it doesn’t anymore. He asks me the same question, and I admit to him that I don’t know – that it typically bothers me. When it’s time to go, we hug goodbye, and he goes for the kiss. I start to kiss back, but pull back after becoming conscious of how much I’m bending over to complete the transaction. The next morning, I respond to his question about whether I can handle the disparity in height, and I answer truthfully. “I know myself, and I don’t think so.” He counters that he is 6’4” in bed, which makes me chuckle, but then asks if we can be friends.
My answer. Definitely.
Update on concert guy: texted me and asked if I was ready for a second “hot date.”
Next up: Latin mountain man
And… unrelated to the post, but as a nod to the magnificent Jason Isbell concert I saw this week. One of many, many faves…