He wants to write to me. Like a proper, hand-written letter— envelope and all. Evidently I wasn’t the only one feeling completely mashed up inside after our weekend together; he tells me he needs to get it all down on paper… and being the hopeless romantic that I am, I’m already salivating.
And here we stumble upon the greatest, well… stumbling block between me and Date #7. It’s not that I got all insecure about our “relationship” on Sunday night and found myself literally pushing him away. It’s not that my life is here, on this side of the state, and his life is there, on the other. It’s not that he reminds me of my first boyfriend.
It’s that he reminds me of myself.
I used to think I’d like to date a male version of myself. (Egocentric much?) You know: someone who’s creative, artistic, mildly intelligent, spiritual-but-not-religious (that’s official Match.com parlance for you there), politically left-of-center and “deep” enough to indulge my occasional philosophizing.
Well, I’ve met that person. That person is Date #7, the man who drove across the state to meet me last Friday, spent the next 36 hours driving me crazy and left me on the verge of incomprehensible tears on Sunday night.
When I think back to my little mental checklist of “desirable qualities” the phrase “Be careful what you wish for” comes to mind.
Why? Well, we are perfect on paper—absolutely pitch freakin’ perfect— from our values and interests right on down to his being very definitely taller-than-me-in-heels. We have all sorts of weird little things in common, too: favorite city (Florence), favorite wine (Cabernet Sauvignon), current musical talent (none), desired musical talent (violin) and so on and so forth. We both love thunderstorms, we’re both the oldest in our families and we were finishing each other’s sentences within minutes of meeting on Friday.
But paper is not real life. There’s a reason, after all, that they say opposites attract.
And here, my dear readers, ends my public obsessing over Date #7. I’ll continue to obsess of course, but a bit more privately because I’m good enough at sabotaging relationships and/or gilding the lily on my own—the more I put out there, the more opinions I get and the more befuddled I become! (Remember Persuasion? Probably not—only the hardcore Jane Austen fans bother to read Persuasion— but the title should give you an indication of how I’m feeling right about now.)
Earlier this week, a fellow dating blogger over at Heels and Hiking Shoes wrote:
Date # 7 sounds fun. Stop writing in this blog and go live your life.
Well. I’m going to ignore the first part of his advice (sorry, Micah), but I think I just might try to give the second part a shot.