Joking Aside

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CC Image courtesy of Triple L. on Flickr

(Continued from Size Matters)

Tristan‘s section is deserted except for him. I double back, lunch in hand, and take the swivel chair next to his. We talk about the singular form of ravioli (my lunch), his recent illness (particularly common in women over 40 apparently), sky-diving as a potential cure.

‘How have you been?’ he says.

‘Good. Been dancing a bit more these last few weeks. Yeah, things have been good.’

‘Any dates?’

‘A few… but I think it’s nearly at an end.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t think we want the same thing.’

In a ‘sourcing free condoms on my lunch break because he’s not interested in being exclusive‘ kind of a way.

‘We’re not on the same page,’ I add.

‘Is he a slow reader?’ Tristan says. ‘Did you meet at your book club?’

I laugh. Tom would never make a joke like that, which makes me feel slightly better about the whole thing.

CC Image courtesy of infowidget on Flickr

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Back For Good

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CC Image courtesy of Ross_Angus on FlickrI don’t know if it’s because Lucy says she doesn’t think I’ve heard the last of him. Or because Attractive Witty Lawyer doesn’t rock my world and when Fred Astaire kisses me on the Overground I’m not really sure I’m feeling it. Or because I’m reading Love In The Time of Cholera which basically says it’s OK to devote your entire life to someone who might have forgotten you exist.

Or because I’m currently on a plane bound for a city which can’t help but make me think of him. He’s not there anymore – he’s back in London. He didn’t tell me; I read it on Facebook. For a week I was down in the dumps before picking myself up and… going to his place of work.

I’d been meaning to check out the dance classes for a while. And when I say a while I mean getting on for three years. And it just so happened that they took place every Saturday in the building where VP was working.

The chances of running into the guy were close to nil. I suppose… it will sound silly (and I do think Gabriel Garcia Márquez is partly to blame), I wanted to walk where he’d walked, go where he’d gone before me. Is that weird? Maybe, but at the same time I was dancing again and that could only be a good thing. He’d made me dance once before and now here I was again, dancing. And who knew where it would lead?

CC Image courtesy of fd on Flickr

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A Lesson In Dating

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CC Image courtesy of byronv2 on FlickrHis messages become less and less frequent and less and less carefully written.  Eventually, two days having elapsed since our last contact, I crack.  He replies and a conversation ensues.

I write my messages in my head before he’s even replied, which is silly, not least because he’s wholly unpredictable.  That’s one of the things I love about him.

 

Saturday, I wake to the flu and a message asking how I am.

‘Poor you!’ he sends back.  Then something witty.  It’s always something witty.

In the evening, I take my phone and book, and go down to the garden and read.  One hour and two pages later, I still haven’t heard from him.  It’s probably a good thing: if I did, I might reply with the question I’ve been itching to ask ever since we met, but which I still don’t know how to phrase.  The problem is, there’s no way of asking it without making my feelings apparent, and I’m not sure I’m ready to put myself on the line.

The next day, an email arrives in my inbox: a new post from one of my favourite dating bloggers.  Certain phrases resonate:

I think we often overthink things when it comes to dating, and we certainly hold back in fear of what the other person might think[.]

And,

[A]ny gesture from the heart is a good one. And if, for any reason, the person you’re trying to impress thinks otherwise, screw em.

‘Do you have plans to be in London any time in the near future?’

‘Would you like to see me again?’

‘What do you think about seeing each other again?’

I might never ask it, never hear his answer.  Because, in a way, I already have.

CC Image courtesy of _berteh on Flickr

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