Saturday, I went out with The Highlander. He seemed excellent on paper, and I know I will need a distraction when John Boy is gone for good, so why not? We met up for ice cream, and in just a few minutes time I thought for sure I was going to need to send Grayer and Scarlet the SOS text. You know, the one where I text them the Danger Word (Bert!) and hopefully at least one of them receives it immediately, waits five minutes, calls me, then sings to me while I shout "Are you ok? Where are you? Of course, I'll be right there!" Then I can be put out of my misery, apologizing profusely, and hope he never calls again.
The Highlander, quite attractive and very nice, was just so awkward. Maybe it's just that (sadly) I've been doing this long enough, but I know that there are always going to be awkward pauses in conversation. Heck, there are pauses in conversations long into relationships, both romantic as well as platonic, they just become comfortable. Therefore, I know well enough not to panic, but The Highlander obviously doesn't know this. He was trying so hard, it was a bit endearing, but still terribly uncomfortable. We got our ice cream, and took off for a walk around the neighborhood (a neighborhood that we share, making him extremely geographically desirable) and the awkwardness eased up a bit. Eventually, we got back to where we started, and he suggested we get some dinner. I agreed, since at this point I'm pretty confident in my abilities to keep the conversation going. Dinner went pretty well, and clocked in at two hours (pretty solid, by date clock standards). I know I did more than my share of the talking, since all the "experts" say to let the man do 2/3 of the talking, but sometimes, you just have to step up to the plate. (And in case you're wondering, no, I'm not starting on a path to cougardom, he's nearly 6 years my senior.) I knew it had gone well, though, when the check came and he immediately grabbed it. Always a good sign.
Apparently dinner went so well, he even offered to do something else afterward, but I know enough to leave 'em wanting more, so I thanked him for the ice cream and dinner. He called me by 12:30pm the next day, and we are apparently going out again on Friday. (Of course, I've heard that one before, so I don't want to get too psyched up for it.) And the sad part? I keep forgetting about Friday and looking forward to Saturday. What's Saturday, you ask? The day John Boy returns. Oh, crap.
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