Friends, I love being
single. I aspire to reach Kate Bolick heights of spinster fabulousness, and I
think that I do. But this story starts where so many of them do—a gentle,
long-fluttering crush. About a month ago, curiosity bubbled up and I (sort of) asked
out a friendly acquaintance I’ll call Steven. (because Universe) He spent the
better part of a day with me, painting watercolors and falling asleep in front
of my favorite movie. (Slacker. I
would blame exactly NO ONE for falling asleep in front of it.) At no point
during that day did I find out if he liked girls or boys or both or neither,
most importantly whether he liked me.
So, in the middle of the
night, (I knew he’d be up, he’s not a morning person like me.) I texted to ask
him if he’d mind snuggling. After I sent the text, my heart was pounding in
that dizzying, vexing, nauseating way that I hadn’t felt in a while, and when
he sent back a very kind no, I was SO MUCH SADDER than I’d expected to be. Even
though it was late, I called Sweetie (ex-wife, now best friend, only
call-in-the-middle-of-the-night person besides the hotline I use for panic) and
SOBBED.
As unpleasant as that
was, there was something healthy about it too. Irksome as an unrequited thing
always is, I felt like I’d returned to a vital part of myself. I used to let my
hoo-ha steer my life so much more, and it felt like a relief to have turned to
that compass, even a little bit.
(Before we leave Steven, I want to report that he and
I settled into friendship faster than I expected, because he’s a treasure and
also probably because of the next part of the story.)
I
went back to regularly swiping through Ok Cupid, at least to remember to keep snuggles
a priority. (I gave up on Tinder a long time ago because guys kept being mad at
me for being a person.) Because it’s election season, my OKC profile picture is
of me meeting Hillary Clinton. The picture (which I also keep by my front door
for strength, along with the times I met John Lewis and Cecile Richards) served
the dual purposes of both being a conversation starter and (presumably) weeding
out most of the Trump monsters and Bernie bros. (Some trolls still get though,
though, my OKC inbox is not THAT different than my textbanking-for-Democrats
inbox. Any opportunity to push back, I guess…)
Every
once in a while, though, somebody says Exactly. The. Right. Thing. And I have
to resist the temptation to screenshot it so I can show ALL the men what the exactly
right thing is. It’s a very nice bonus when the guy typing the right thing is a
cute black guy with dreamy eyes and who lists Gilmore Girls as one of his
interests!!!
Here is the exactly right
thing to say to me on OK Cupid—or anywhere: “Wow, you got to meet Hillary
Clinton! I think she is a majestic woman and I really wanted her to be our
president.”
Majestic! *swoons*
Plus!
This guy lives right in my beloved neighborhood! So we made plans to spend a
morning on my favorite local hiking trail. I had him meet me at the library, since
my number one most exciting reserve had just come in. (Rich People Problems! CANNOT get enough of Kevin Kwan) I nervously
caught Pokémon in one of the pretty chairs outside the library as I waited for
him to arrive.
When
I saw him, I felt immediately special because he’d clearly dressed with care.
(Now that I know him a little better I’ve realized that he probably ALWAYS
dresses with care, but still.) He had on a vintage jacket and a yellow gingham
shirt—picture-perfect for the woods.
And cute. Long locks, those dreamy eyes, and
yay! Close to my height. He’s fit in a way that made me worry I was too fat for
him. (Sorry, no amount of feminism has banished that annoying thought.) Spoiler
alert, I wasn’t. Despite my worries
and jangled nerves, we felt like a match to me, a sort of “Yeah, this could
work.” moment.
As we
walked through the woods on that beautifully cool grey early fall day, golden
color just beginning to tinge the leaf-edges, I was delighted to find out that
he was MAYBE MORE OBSESSED WITH GILMORE GIRLS THAN I AM. He even listens to the
Gilmore Guys podcast. It dawned on me
then—
“Hey!
It’s September 21st! Have you seen Demi Adejuyigbe’s video about
that?” (Google “electrolemon September,” you really need to know.)
“No—what
are you doing later? Why don’t you come over and we can watch it and some
Gilmore episodes? I’ll make you a cocktail?”
Um,
yes. Wait, he watches Gilmore Girls AND makes fancy cocktails? Are you KIDDING
me? I requested mojitos and he said he’d have to pick up some mint, but I
happen to have plenty of mint in my yard. Clearly, part two of this date was mint to be.
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