Sizzle Says

I + I = Us

Mr. Darcy and I often start sentences to each other with, “I don’t want to freak you out but. . .” and then one of says something that is ripe with future plans involving the other, a sentiment we’ve been carrying around that involves an unspoken happily ever after, a feeling that is simultaneously pure excitement and fear. It’s been three months and many caution that it’s too soon to say such things, to know such things. And yet, all my life people have been saying that when you meet The One, you just know. I’ve rallied against that because in many of my previous relationships I wanted the person I was with to be The One. The thing is, you can’t force someone to be Your Person, and no amount of trying to make them be IT is going to work.

I don’t want to make it sound like Mr. Darcy and I met and everything has been sunshine and roses from that day forth. There has been lots of sunshine and plenty of roses for certain but we’ve also had our share of struggles as we’re learning to be a couple- an us instead of an I. I’m not the easiest person to date. I’m difficult. I’m too structured and completely closed off.* I have a panic button when it comes to intimacy and it’s hard to find the off switch. I’m upfront about all this but I struggle with being a burden, requiring too much effort, letting my neurosis get the better of me. Mr. Darcy is the counterbalance to my spazmatronic ways. He’s steady and self-assured and patient. It’s not that he’s perfect. He’s also an epic worrier, sensitive and internalizes a lot of his feelings. It’s just that he’s perfect for me.

For me love is a verb. It takes action and choice. It takes being all in, showing up, trying and trying some more. If the past three months have shown me anything it is that Mr. Darcy is worth every effort, every growing pain, every compromise. He is worth everything to me.

*Why yes, sometimes I am very much Sally Albright from When Harry Met Sally.

Remembering the Start

I guess I never really told you about how Mr. Darcy and I met, did I?

You all read about my foray back into the world of on line dating. I even wrote about what I was looking for. I was clear back in November that I was seeking My Person. Not some random roll in the hay. Not someone to grab a drink with and shoot the shit with. I have a lot of friends, close relationships, and an active social life. I didn’t need time fillers. I wanted to find something special, spectacular, meaningful. I was losing patience and my hope was faltering. . .

And then the Universe brought me Mr. Darcy.

I wrote to him based on cute photos and his use of the word “shenanigans” in his profile. I know, I know- not really the best reasons but I was at the point where I was forcing myself to make moves because I felt stagnant. I suppose this story would be more romantical if I had said it was love at first glance or his profile described my ideal man. But come on. We’re talking about an on line dating site. Let’s not go overboard in our expectations.

We exchanged emails at a steady pace and then we had the phone call wherein we talked for a couple hours then the texting started (a big deal since he had, up to that point, not been big into texting). All this was occurring between holidays so we were not able to meet until the day after Christmas.

We met in my neighborhood at a local cafe. When I arrived, a couple minutes late, I didn’t see him in the restaurant so I grabbed a table and texted him. Turns out there was an entire back room that I was unaware of and he’d been holding a table there for awhile. He was worried about being late because he tends to get lost since he’s not from this side of the water (he’s an east sider- locals will know what I mean). He walked up to my table after receiving my text and we hugged hello and decided to return to his more private table in back.

And then we proceeded to talk and laugh and eat and drink for (at least) four hours. I remember seeing what time it was and being totally shocked. Time had flown.

We weren’t exactly done hanging out so we went across the street to a bar. As we walked out of the restaurant I was fussing with the belt of my famous blue raincoat. He stood there patiently and when I was done he gave me his arm to take as we walked. I could not remember the last time someone offered me their arm.

The night wore into morning and despite not wanting the date to end, we decided we both needed to get to bed. (Not together! Sheesh. It’s only the first date, gutterbrains. Heh.) He offered me a ride home which I accepted. When we got to his car he opened the door for me. People still do this? It was only about eight blocks until my building and I wanted the drive to last longer. He parked, turned off the car and walked me to my door.

Oh boy.

I’d been thinking about kissing him since about an hour into our date. I was hoping he had the same thought. We walked the marbled steps to the front entrance and stood there exchanging pleasantries- it was fun, we should do it again, thank you, etc. We hugged. (He’s a good hugger.) We pulled apart and he leaned in and kissed me. (He’s a good kisser too.) I don’t know why I was a bit shocked- I wanted him to do that but he’d been so gentlemanly all evening I figured he’d wait until a future date to plant one on me. So we kissed. And we kissed some more. And decorum told me I should probably not make out on the front stoop of the apartment building I manage so with some hesitation (would he think me too bold, brazen, a hussy?) I invited him up.

But it was perfectly innocent. Just kissing. Just really good kissing. We tore ourselves away as it neared 2am with promises of a second date.

And that? Was the beginning.

Of the rest of my life.