At the close of my post last Wednesday evening, I had sworn off dating forever (while simultaneously alluding to the fact that I would never, EVER swear off dating). Little did I know, I would be dating again by later that same evening.
There I am, lying on the couch innocently perusing Facebook (willing myself not to review my new matches on OkCupid) when I receive a text from SEAN. I am so tempted to use his real name but will resist. A pseudonym cannot possibly imply the intensity of emotions I experience upon hearing, speaking or reading his name. That being said, you can imagine my shock upon seeing his number pop up on my phone (As damage control I had taken Sean’s number out of my phone—is it my fault that he has a highly unique and recognizable area code?!)
At this point you might be asking yourself—WHO THE HELL IS SEAN? MAYBE IF YOU WEREN’T RUNNING AROUND WITH SO MANY DIFFERENT MEN YOU WOULDN’T GET HURT SO OFTEN! And you might be right. Yet, I digress. Sean and I met early on in my online dating career, and we hit it off immediately. Five intimate dates plus daily phone and text contact? I assumed we were on the road to marriage. When I left to visit my best friend in North Carolina, we had nightly video chats. Upon reuniting after that week apart, I (assuming the feeling was mutual) expressed to Sean that I was ready to be monogamous with him. After a slightly awkward conversation—one that involved me assuring Sean that of course I understood he just got out of a relationship and therefore couldn’t possibly be expected to commit fully—Sean agreed. Shocker of all shockers, I received an e-mail from Sean two days later saying it was too much too soon. “I hope you don’t hate me,” he wrote.
I wished I could hate him. My dinner for the week following that e-mail alternated between Chipotle burritos and potent mood stabilizers washed down with red wine.
After a week I was over the worst of it. I de-friended him on Facebook (a move I had previously deemed petty and immature) and moved on with my life. And now, three months later and finally VERY over it, I am totally thrown by Wednesday night’s text. “Do you hate me?” I respond: “Yes.” Sean goes on to tell me that he broke things off with me because he got back with his ex-girlfriend, and now they’ve broken up, and would I consider meeting him for a drink to let him explain and apologize in person? Ordinarily, of course, I would have said no. 10pm on a Wednesday night? As IF I could be available so last minute. But there I am, with a dress, shoes, and make-up in my bag—all at the ready for my previously cancelled date with Josh. So, we go for drinks. His hair is longer and more shaggy than I remember, and for a second I think maybe I won’t feel the same way about him as I did before. No shot. After two glasses of wine, I can’t remember how he ever wronged me and we’re having a better time than I ever remember having with anyone (please let this be hyperbole on the part of my memory).
Fortunately and unfortunately for me, Sean is moving to Bangladesh in eleven days. Still, I had trouble keeping my mind off him this past weekend. At least I didn’t resort to mood stabilizers as meals. Instead, I made linguine with clams. I sautéed tons of garlic in olive oil and gradually added white wine, clam juice, salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes. I tossed this sauce with whole wheat linguine and three cans of chopped clams, then added at least a cup of grated parmesan. I may not have a new summer boyfriend, but my dad thought the dish was impressive. He thinks I’m a real catch. Now, is there a man out there to try my cooking to whom I’m not biologically related?
No comments:
Post a Comment