He looked terribly handsome as he tossed his shaggy dark hair and laughed just a little too hard at my bad joke. While his posture telegraphed confidence — upright yet leaned back, big smile across his face — the laugh told me, “Whoa. This guy is just a little bit nervous.”
I felt nervous too — a tiny fluttering in my stomach, my palms just a little clammy. First dates have a way of doing that to you.
Only, this wasn’t our first date in the traditional sense. No, this was our first date, err, our first “Preparing for Partnership” session, with the rabbi we want to marry us.
You got to know me years ago on The Frisky as Dater X, the girl who just couldn’t get it right in love, hanging intense excitement on each new guy and feeling mildly to horrifically crushed when it didn’t work out. Dater X, the girl on the hunt for her green zebra—safari jacket on, binoculars at the ready—but only finding red koalas and yellow crocodiles. Keep reading »
Two summers ago, I remember sitting on a bar stool, anxiously twirling a straw in my Rum and Coke as a guy I’d been dating for a little over a month explained why he didn’t think we should see each other anymore. “Why?” I asked, stunned. He hemmed and hawed for a moment, and opened and closed his mouth sharply, as if he enjoyed the taste of the air. I could tell there was something he was wanting to say, but couldn’t quite make himself form the words.
“My parents taught me that you don’t date someone unless you can see yourself marrying them,” he said. “That’s always stuck with me. Those are words I live by.”
The wooden bar stool felt harsh and uncomfortable underneath me—almost as uncomfortable as the words coming out of this guy’s mouth. Really, he’s breaking up with me because he doesn’t want to MARRY me? Is this guy I’ve gone on SIX dates with and had sex with ONCE really talking about freaking MARRIAGE? Keep reading »
Last Thursday, I prepared myself for what I thought would be a big milestone in my relationship with The Young One. His older sister—who serves double duty as his best friend—was visiting and I was going to meet her for the first time over dinner. That morning, I rummaged through my closet, trying to find the perfect ensemble to project a cool-yet-wholesome image. Over lunch, I brainstormed restaurants with my co-workers, hoping to find a place that felt special and laid-back at the same time—a true reflection of me. All afternoon I felt on a high that I was about to meet my first member of The Young One’s family—the one he was closest to, no less. Visions of his sister and I becoming besties danced in my head.
But as late afternoon rolled around, I hadn’t heard from The Young One. He remembers dinner tonight, right? I thought before spiraling into another thought. What if he’s changed his mind about introducing me to his sister? Keep reading »
Last night, while watching “The Bachelor: The Women Tell All,” I found myself getting more than a little choked up watching Ashley Spivey’s one-on-one interview with Chris Harrison. Her hands folded delicately in her lap, she talked about how Brad Womack‘s rejection feels like a pattern she’s been stuck in for years. On that first night, Brad had given her the first impression rose. For maybe two weeks, he adored her. And then, he sent her home. “I’m in disbelief right now,” Ashley said in the backseat of the limo. “They always say the exact same thing, ‘You’re going to make such a great wife, just not for me.’” Elvis crooned “Are You Lonesome Tonight” in the background.
I looked across my living room at a bouquet of flowers that The Young One bought me for no particular reason, and noted that my dog was curled up on a t-shirt he left here over the weekend. The Young One and I are approaching the two-month mark and things remain so awesome between us. But man, oh man, do I remember feeling the way Ashley does. Keep reading »
It’s been three years since I’ve uttered the phrase, “This is my boyfriend, __________.” So every time I’ve said it in the past two weeks, as the word ‘boyfriend’ passed through my lips, it felt both totally foreign and completely natural. Even though it’s a word that conjures up images of high school and “Do you like me? Check yes or no” letters, each time I say it, the word makes me feel just a little bit giddy.
I’ve been dating The Young One for six blissful weeks. Keep reading »
Like a cat who constantly wants to be petted, I have an insatiable need for back rubs. I am forever asking significant others for them—a request that is usually obliged, but that is sometimes met with a “Maybe later,” an “I’m tired” or, worse, an “Again?” So far, The Young One has been happy to indulge each and every back massage request. But last Thursday night, as we watched TV at his place, I suddenly found myself sitting on the back of the couch, leaning over and kneading my hands into his shoulders. “That feels incredible,” he said.
He hadn’t asked me for a back rub, nor had I consciously decided to give him one—it was something I did without thinking. It was the first moment I realized that I am totally in love with this guy. Keep reading »