I have a second date with someone this weekend. A date on date night, Saturday night, in Paris. With a man who seems quite nice. And no, he's not French (because I know that was your next question). Nor American. I'm not saying more than that right now.
The first date was a couple of weeks ago, just before my best friend came over for her vacation. He and I had been emailing for months, having met online before the holidays when I was here and he was back in his home country, and he'd just arrived in Paris for an extended tour of duty with his work. So although he was in the middle of a work day and I was cramming in last minute preparations for my houseguest's arrival, we decided to meet for a quick lunch on the Champs Elysées near the Arc de Triomph.
If you've never explored internet dating, it's essentially like picking a blind date out of a catalog. You see a picture (I never deal with men who won't post a picture -- what are they hiding?), read their vital statistics (smoker/non-smoker, height, profession, done any hard time, etc.) and hopefully they have written something about themselves and the kind of person they're looking for, enough to give you a feel for their personality and interests and ability to communicate. But photos can be misleading and the real person may not resemble their photo very much. I've dabbled in internet dating off and on for about 12 years and could tell you stories that would make you laugh, or cringe, or possibly both. Like the guy who reminded me of Al Bundy's kid from the TV sitcom Married With Children. Or the time I had two dates booked on the same night... and got stood up by both of them.
This man fortunately did resemble his photo, and in person he comes across quite like he did in his emails and the brief phone call we had the day before we met. So far, so good. It took us a bit to actually meet though: I had suggested we meet in front of Cartier which is right on the l'Etoile at the top of the Champs Elysees and which was the only landmark I could remember other than the Arc itself. But somehow my new friend ended up on the OTHER side of l'Etoile! A somewhat confused cell phone call later and we were finally face-to-face, and enjoying a bit of lunch at some Italian place on the Champs.
This was my first date in a VERY long time. Just HOW long, I am embarrassed to say but we're talking years rather than months. (Hey, I've been busy, you know?) But I was able to be quite relaxed, which was a bit of a surprise to me. I more or less made up my mind that it was no big deal... it was just lunch with a nice person in broad daylight and neither of us had time to linger that day; the ideal no-pressure first date situation. If you don't like each other, no harm done, and if you do you can always go out again.
So at the end of the date when he asked if I'd like to go to dinner after my visiting friend left, I said yes without hesitation. I'd had a very nice time, the conversation was good and he seems like a very decent sort of person. Too early to tell if there is any romantic spark, but enough to know a second date was worth doing.
Then, I didn't hear from him for a while. I wasn't concerned about it but did wonder if that second date was going to happen, especially as Valentine's Day came -- and went. It wouldn't be the first time some new guy said "I'll call", and then didn't. We all know THAT story, don't we girls?
So today when I checked my email, I was a little surprised to see a very nice note from him, explaining his delay in getting back in touch with me (out of town business) asking if I was free this weekend. And that's why I've got a date, a second date.
I have to admit, I debated about whether or not to blog about this, and if so to what degree. Because I don't blog anonymously, it is possible he is reading this or may read this some day in the future, and I'm not out to make anyone feel awkward or uncomfortable. I don't want my blog to be a sordid tell-all of my entire life... a girl's entitled to some secrets. But part of my purpose for this blog is to talk candidly about what it's like to be over 40 and single and living in Paris, and that means I do want to tell the truth of my own experience.
And the truth is, I'm nervous. It literally has been SO many years since I last got romantic with anyone, or even WANTED to get romantic, that I feel like I'm 16 all over again and have forgotten what to do on a date. I'm left with a looping internal monologue:
Will he try to hold my hand?
Will I want him to?
What do I do if he wants to kiss me?
Will my lips remember what to do?
What if I don't like the way he kisses?
Or worse yet, what if I DO?
Should I bother shaving my legs (we all know what THAT can lead to)?
No, that's more of a third or fourth date thing, isn't it?
Might there BE a third date? Or a fourth? I'm really not sure...
What if... what if... what if...?
I've never been good at the whole dating thing. I'm a relationship-person, not a dating-person. I'm not good at the games, the chit-chat, the superficial stuff that always seems to mark the beginning of something; I want to skip all that because it stresses me out, and just be comfortable with someone. And not having been close to anyone for such a long time, having spent such a long time on my own with only myself to rely upon, makes me wonder if I will remember how to be romantic. And how to take the risk of taking walls down and letting someone IN. I can already feel myself distrusting the situation, and by that I mean that I have this perverse habit of not trusting when someone seems to be interested in ME before I am super-interested in HIM. It's like that Groucho Marx quote: "I won't belong to any organization that would have me as a member". It's stupid, I know, but there it is.
Maybe I am so used to unrequited love (story of my life as a young woman) that I don't know what to do with myself in situations where someone actually seems to want to pursue me a bit. This is probably why I wouldn't trust a Frenchman if he DID seem interested in me; I'd think it was all romantic fluff and no substance, and the fluff makes me uncomfortable. I want to THINK I'm romantic but the reality is I don't think I am, at least not in the usual sense of the word.
I have no idea what is going to happen tomorrow night. At the very least I expect to have a nice-enough evening with someone who can carry on his half of the conversation. And I won't be alone on a Saturday night in Paris where there are all those other couples walking around - that will be a novel change for the better. Whether there will be a romantic spark, I don't know. Part of me almost hopes that there won't be -- after all, that would be easier, not to start something up where I might get hurt eventually.
But the part of me that feels the drive to be bolder is recalling past relationships during the really GOOD moments. The ones where you are part of a couple. Where you share a joke together by just looking at one another. Where you curl up on the couch together on a Sunday and read, after having (a-hem) slept in late. Where you feel like you really KNOW the other person and he really knows YOU, and loves you anyway. THAT, I definitely want.
In order to have THAT in my life again, I have no choice. I have to put myself back out there. Anxious moments and all. Love needn't be painful or a struggle, but to have the opportunity for love, I have to be willing to take the risk of spending time getting to know someone new... and letting him get to know me. The real me. Flaws and all.
Now if only my lips can recall what they might be called upon to do on a date. Better get the Chapstick. And some Tic-Tacs.
