The
Saturday after New Years, we had our first in-person date. The Drummer was
coming into town from the suburbs to meet me at my favorite gentle hiking spot
in a nearby state park. I picked out a red lace dress to wear under my warm
fuzzy black coat with black leggings and worn-out black Chuck-Taylor-like
lowtop sneakers. (Those were DEFINTELY no match for the cold muddiness of the
trails!)
It was
weird to get ready for a date without lipstick, and my old safer-sex anxieties
seemed minute compared to the fear that this so-called liberal might somehow show
up without a mask like surprise! No science! I sent him a here’s what-I-look-like-with-half-a
face pic and quickly got one back. We both prefer bandannas, very we’re-all-Antifa-now.
As I sat
on a wooden fence rail waiting for him, I felt frozen with nervousness. Also,
with cold, fretting about the fraught etiquette of maybe needing to blow my
nose during the date without seeming like I was gonna breath-murder him. If I
went in for a hug, would I seem wildly irresponsible? If I declined a kiss
later, would he think I didn’t like him? I felt a little lost without my in-normal-times
general sluttiness to rely on!
Because I
am me, I already fully liked him before he came walking up the trail, but also,
he was all the way cute. He was a little taller than me and not as fat, but
very solidly built. I’m generally a little afraid of white dudes (I mean, have
you seen America?) but his forty-something-ex-hardcore-kid-ness put me at ease,
especially his vague and lovely tattoos. His dark green fedora, rather than making
him look sketchy, made him look dapper and like he definitely cared about this
date! (Scream emoji!)
He leaned
in for a hug and I couldn’t help but say “You’re actual!”
We talked
easily, especially for walking six feet apart! I snuck glances at his hands,
big and warm-looking, open and relaxed at his side like an invitation, or at
least not NOT an invitation!
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