After getting past the holidays and barely surviving a freakishly long cold, the beginning of the year started, not with hope, but with the slow, drawn out demise of any potential relationships I may have had.
The Belgian informed me that I couldn’t give something that I didn’t have myself. Really? We’re whipping out the cliches now? He followed up by asking why I dated so many men and why didn’t I just make a decision. I told him, decisively, that I wasn’t interested in a committed relationship. Oregon Guy simply stopped communicating. Stretchy Pants and I tried to get together a few times, but my nasty cold prevented it. He’s safely back in California, and I’m, well, over my cold at least.
Am I too picky? Am I afraid? I could pick myself apart for decades if I wanted to, but the truth is I simply haven’t found the guy for me. Plain and simple. Have I met some nice, interesting, fun men? Yes, definitely. But, so far, no butterflies.
Until now. Gulp.
He’s Canadian. This reminds me of one of my favorite This American Life episodes… “Who’s Canadian?” (In the show I discover Captain Kirk is Canadian, and I, like one of the narrators on the show, find this disturbing). We connect online, and he informs me that I had passed his litmus test. I wasn’t aware of his criteria. However, since his ex-wife is Swedish, I deduce (correctly) that he has a thing for Scandinavian women.
He suggested we go kayaking, and I’m overjoyed when it starts raining and I’m spared from having to decide if I’m brave enough to display my 52 year old thighs on a first date. We settle on Plan B, the same Tiki Bar where I misbehaved with the Belgian a few months back.
A self-described artist and former ski bum, he’s here visiting family and looking for a potential real estate project. He has small children back in Canada, and they are with him half of the time, so he explains he’s not able to commit to a long term thing. I find this, his beautiful blue eyes and his scruffy blond hair, all equally appealing.
After telling each other tales of our past, the date moves from the Tiki Bar back to my place where he cooks me dinner.
Yup, butterflies for sure.
Episode 65, thisamericanlife.org. “Who’s Canadian?”