Nothing that follows is true.
A. I arrived at her house around 6:35 on Friday evening.
B. She drove down on Saturday morning and we had a Mexican brunch at a nearby favorite.
C. I picked her up in SA on the way to Port A for the weekend.
I want to craft or map the possible adventures ahead. I want to understand my own fantasy and how the projections in my mind are often not accurate. She is lovely. She was faster than me on the playground in first grade. Fortunately, she was still at the same school when my 5th-grade performance elevated me to the stage, gave me the confidence of Steve McQueen. It didn’t last.
As I departed for an East Coast prep school she was called back to her earlier homestead. Just like Brooke, another amazing student, she vanished from our lives. Today, as Facebook binds us together with our past, she is an unequivocal natural beauty and not about hair, makeup, or fake eyelashes that some women use to extend their fantasy of youth. She’s the anti that.
I’ve put the A, B, C scenarios in her DMs. But it’s never too early for flights of fantasy, right?
On the drive down to Port A we discovered our first speed bump. She didn’t care about music. When I asked, “What’s our first car trip song?” She replied, “Huh?”
As the brunch moved into a second margarita the love languages began to emerge. I like any man, is touch motivated. She… Well, here’s where things hit a snag. “I’m thinking of a nap,” I said. “I’m thinking of mowing the back-40.”
I wrestled with “bring or don’t bring” tequila to our reunion, in the end I brought not only Casa Migos Blanco but Gran Mariner and a popular mix.
I know alcohol is not the social lubricant everyone thinks it is. It doesn’t make people seem smarter or more attractive to me. It seems to illuminate underlying issues. Before the Wimberly trip I’d say, “I’m not much of a drinker.”
That was so long ago. I now have opinions on Añejo and Reposado. I also know tequila to be a spiritual journey. One of enlightenment about both light and dark sides of one’s personality. What you have suppressed might be expressed if you’re sipping or shooting. I was ready to understand more about her long-distance long-running existential loneliness. I was hoping for it.
Let’s just say, George Clooney has become my spirit animal and Bill Murray is my spiritual guide. I’m on my way up and up.
And, to be fair to myself, I am moving into the best years of my life. I can feel it. I’ve unlocked a new level of fitness and health. Merely understanding that comfort food is not always the answer and neither Ben nor Jerry are my friends is enough. That and a lifelong love of tennis.
But as the alcoholic I tried to marry used to say, “You can’t outrun the fork.” She was a marathoner. She also asked early in our cohabitation, “Have you ever dated a marathoner?” They are sort of fanatical about that shit. I guess you’d have to be. Not me. I’ll run if being chased or if chasing a yellow ball or cute woman. It’s an adorable part of me. My 7th-grade championship trophy has been refurbished.
“I peaked in 7th grade.”
It wasn’t true. I peaked in 5th grade and this lovely rugged farm girl was there. I’m certain she was unimpressed. I pulled my first bullshit man move. I tried to secretly have THREE girlfriends at the same time. THREE. I was caught by their incessant chatter. The bad girl, Serita, broke up too, but let me know she was still into it when all the crap blew over.
I may have a handicap. I’m addicted to touch.
You’re not going to believe this. We were destined to be together. I can feel it.
Oh, wait. That’s just my loneliness. Thank god I’m not adding drugs or alcohol to that mix at the moment. I’m calling my next relationship Project 2025. It has a ring to it, don’t you think? For 2024 I’m off the market. I mean, unless she calls.
She won’t call. She might not even pick from the A-through-C scenarios. Here’s the actual FB DM.
Okay, that was true. I mean, I could’ve faked it, but I’m still waiting for an answer. Just like you are now.
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