Eight years ago today, I was getting ready to go on what I already hoped would be my last first date. The boy liked Japanese fiction, beer, and obscure bands and the girl liked all of those things, and the boy, too.
Online dating and I were on a break. Had reached an impasse. Agreed to disagree.
Two weeks before, I saw this guy. This guy that seemed different to all the other guys.
Different because, well, he wasn’t my type. But maybe, I’d been thinking my type was an asshole.
And this guy, this blondish, bearded geek with glasses, well there was something about him.
He looked like a real person. And I wondered, truthfully, and only half silently, if he was my person. And so, I winked at him. The girl who likes full sentences, and interesting questions, sent a wink. Thanks, Match.
And the blondish, bearded geek wrote back. With full sentences. And interesting questions. Really, he had me at the proper use of ‘you’re’.
We talked, or typed, about everything. I’d included my chair in the most recent batch of well-lit single-chin photos, but I still said, Um, have you noticed I’m on wheels?
And then he wrote back. He didn’t ask me if we could have races, or if I could have sex anyway.
Have I mentioned that I like tea? We all have our things. Please write back.
A week later, we were sitting across from each other, taking the lettuce off our burgers at the same time.
We looked at each other and said, ‘Hi.’ That little word meant everything.
It meant we’d found each other. It meant love and laughs and adventures and interesting times, and the coolest kid I’ve ever met.
Neil is practical where I am not, he is annoyingly level-headed when I am not. He makes me laugh and frustrates me like no one else. He is my person, my Lobster, my penguin.
I love him even though he hates cheese.
We all have our things. Please write back.
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Also published on Medium.