I’m chatting with my friend Ove from Norway about Date #7 (the man from across the state who I’ve never actually met) when he asks the obvious question: Why don’t you just drive out to wherever it is that he lives and meet him?
“No way,” I respond. “He has to come to me.”
Ove shoots a bevy of emoticons my way and types, “You are too traditional, Kat.”
And so I am. I am American after all and the so-called “land of the free” is also the land of the Pilgrims. We’ve come a long way since 1620—feminism, for example, has been invented; ditto automobiles—but there is no way I am driving across the state to spend the weekend with a man I’ve never met.
According to my latest WordPress subscription notice, I have quite a few international readers these days so I will pause briefly for a quick lesson in American geography.
When I say “across the state,” I am referring to a rather large state. Driving from Philadelphia to the city where Date #7 currently resides would be the equivalent of driving from London to Dublin (if such a thing were possible) or Prague to Hamburg. It’s only a little bit closer than Stockholm is to Copenhagen (and for my geographically challenged American readers, yes, these Scandinavian cities are in two different countries).
So basically, when I say the “other side of the state,” I mean far, far away. Far enough to fly. And definitely far enough to qualify as a Long Distance Relationship.
I’m a veteran of the LDR. I’ve done Philadelphia to Baltimore (twice, actually) and believe you me: the hour and a half on I-95 was nothing compared to my previous LDRs (try New Jersey to Montreal or Philadelphia to London).
To be honest, I kind of prefer LDRs.
Why? Well, I like my space, I like doing my own thing and I’d be remiss in my ethnographic duties if I failed to admit that during my college years, I even liked all of the drama of those tearful goodbyes and lonely birthdays. (Surely I’m not alone here?)
Suffice it to say, LDRs have worked well for me in the past (to the extent that I’m still single, that is). Of course, Date #7 and I are still several hundred miles away from an actual relationship (he’s the one who pocket called me on his last date and after reading all of your comments on my non-make out session over the weekend, I just make take matters into my own hands…)—but I’m hopeful.
If he manages to get himself to Philadelphia, that is.