OK, really the first one

If you read a previous post about the first one out of the gate, it’s not quite chronological.  The first one I met after my origination, when Ex decided she wanted to chase fairy tales or at least use that as justification, was the friend of a co-worker’s wife.  Actually the co-worker of a co-worker’s wife.  “She’s a little further through the woods on a divorce than you are, and at the very least it’s someone to talk to.”  Someone to talk to was all the pitch I needed after Ex left and I’d begun my sentence.  And if you’ve been divorced or not, we all deal with it differently.  Having someone to talk to helped me realize this sh/t is normal.

Five of us met at a bar for Jane’s birthday.  Jane’s gorgeous.  Jane’s stacked.  Jane is nice and friendly.  The girls exchanged girly presents and everyone held their own in conversation.  Then one by one the people with obligations (ie families) left and Jane and I stayed and talked.  In some ways I am typically male – I like a good looking woman.  But I’ve also developed a decent notion and when to play the right cards in these engagements and tonight was not the night.

Jane and I talked a lot.  Nice to have someone to listen to you, and someone to wonder if you had a good day, and vice versa.  I think we went out 1-2 more times face to face.  I remember showing up at a July 4th party, acting casual but really planting a seed for down the line with Jane.  And it all seemed to work.  My charm that had gone unappreciated and unwanted with Ex for the last few years was well recieved.  Nice…just like riding a bike.

And I am pretty sure Jane and I both knew we’d reached the sh/t or get off the pot stage.  You can only blatantly flirt for so long until something comes of it.  And we set up a dinner, near my house, that led to a kiss in the parking lot and a quick ride home and truth be told a pretty lackluster night together other than that it both of our post-marraige firsts.

At some point she told me she’s been asked out for that coming Saturday and I figure that’s the way adult single life goes.  “It’s ok,” I say to bless her emotions.  And then I fire off this shot on a total long shot wild whim, “I’ll just come over in the afternoon and bang the sh/t out of you before your date.”  Initially I didn’t think she took it well, and I thought I’d backfired (hey, but at least I tried).

But I am in.  And she’s hitting me with sexy texts all week long.  On Saturday I am trying to get as much house work done and get over to Janes.  We’re up against her clock to go out that night and she’s hitting me on the half hour.  “I still need to get sh/t done and I need to take a shower..I’m filthy” I tell her.  “Get over here” she replies, and I am telling you I’ve never driven this fast in KC in my life.  Never had this good a reason to.

She doesn’t meet me at the door as much as she pulls me in and pushes me down the stairs and … it…is…all…over.  Afternoon delight and an probably one of my all timers.  Whatever the opposite of lackluster – intert adjective here.

The great story continues.  I left at her wish while she was getting ready and she calls me.  Tears of regret.  Fragile psyche.  Probably a great idea in theory for her, not so much in reality.  I am good but I let the dust settle and call her during the week.  I owe her one, a nice date of lunch and the art musueum with no pretenses available.  Through this process of divorce, and therapy, and reading I know I have to rethink what dating and relationships with women mean.  Sure, some of it’s the same as being 25 and living in Scottsdale, but there’s enough difference that I have to pay attention to it.

And we park at the art musuem and we’re in conversation…and in the middle of a sentence she makes a right angle away from me and a beeline to the far end of the gift shop.  ‘What the hell?!?!’ I’m thinking.  Right in mid story.  And I let her stew for longer than chivalry would suggest.  She hasn’t moved.  Somewhere between 5-10 minutes I go up to her and ask what’s going on. 

There he is, on the other side of the gift shop.  Last week’s Mr. Saturday Night.  The one she went out with after our afternoon preparty.  Not just that, but she totally blew the guy off to spend the afternoon with me, and there he is, swallowing his pride on a cancelled afternoon with a great girl and he sees her, with me, Mr. Saturday afternoon. 

We had the cashier let us out the service entrace to the gift shop and Jane and I went off and had a fun time acting like giggling teenagers in a world class museum.

Epilogue:  Almost 3 years later Jane is happily married to Mr. Saturday night with a newborn baby boy.  And I am the guy blogging about his dating experiences as DWM.

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