Ok, first things first. Here’s what I wore:
The top is new; it’s from Fresh Ayer. The jeans are apair of Calvin Kleins I bought over the summer (from Nordstrom Rack! only $20) and had never worn, because they needed hemming (to hell with it, I said, and wore them long).
It was stupid, maybe, to buy a new top. (I also bought a pair of jeans, which am returning – the Calvins are cuter! – and the Perfect Black Pants, pants I have been searching for, pants I have been longing for, pants that will change my life.) I’m on sabbatical, I have no income, and, um, maybe I shouldn’t be buying new clothing. But have you ever had a perfect clothes experience? Clothes that just feel right, that make you feel beautiful and comfortable and happy and yourself? This top felt that way. As soon as I bought it, I stopped worrying about the date. I knew I was going to be fine.
(An aside: I’ve noticed, looking at the picture up there, that this outfit makes me look a little bigger than I am. Such is the nature of flowy tops, I guess. It speaks to how far I’ve come in fat acceptance that I chose something that I thought made me look beautiful, rather than something that made me look thin.)
And I was. I met A at the coffee shop. I was there first, which was not my intention. I got a chai, I grabbed a paper, I nabbed the two easy chairs in the corner and I started reading. He walked in right while I w as reading a commentary about how Minnesota’s senate election (it’s still not resolved!) might wind up being decided by lot.
So he walked in, I was feeling beautiful and happy and comfortable and myself, and I had just read a fascinating article about my home state, and I was ready to go. He grabbed a coffee and sat down and we talked, and talked and talked. We talked for three hours, and then I had to get to a meeting, and we hugged and said we should do it again, and then I went home. (And then I went to an incredible meeting, a life-changing meeting, but that’s another story for another blog. Yeah, I keep another blog. Under my Real Name. Imagine!)
We got along splendidly. What I’m not sure of is whether – as my friend Jeremy would say – there’s any mojo.
That sounds more negative than I mean it to. I mean, really, that I’m not sure. He talked a lot, he rattled on and I had some trouble getting a word in, at first, but that’s just nerves. That’s why I believe in a two-date minimum, before you can make up your mind about someone. I’m sure that we could be great friends; I’m just not sure whether there’s any zing, you know?