Dating In The South: SATCC- CHEF BOY-ARE-GET-THE-D: PART 1
So, it’s Saturday night, your kid is at her father’s house, and the guy you’ve been seeing but not yet actually dating all of a sudden goes M.I.A. Oh wait, right, that’s me. Anyways, what’s a girl to do?
Easy. Open up a bottle of wine, find Mean Girls on Netflix, and read my lovely friend Blair’s latest adventures in our awesome town of Athens, Georgia.
And now I present, my friend Blair, of Sex and the Classic City- originally posted on The Broad Collective:
Not all of my tales of dating end in disaster. Sometimes I meet someone amazing and it changes my perspective forever. I figure if I’m going to give the cretins some shine I may as well do the same for the nice guys.
It all started many many months ago when I was freshly single. I was at the farmers market pretending to be far more domestic than I actually am when I accidentally/on-purpose bumped into a super hot guy. Rewind. That makes me sound infinitely more cool and with it than I actually am. It played out a little more like this: I spotted him, registered he was completely my type by turning a socially inept shade of purple, took a very deep breath & gave myself a five second pep talk, walked close by to feign interest in acorn squash (actually acorn squash is delicious, my interest was genuine), he looked up and smiled at me, and because I’m the single most graceful person on the face of planet earth, I tripped and fell into him. And not, like, hand-to-the-forehead-swoony-damsel-in-distress fell. I reamed into the poor guy like a line backer. Ouch. That folks is how ‘meeting cute’ is done on planet Blair. Fail. So much fail.
My own social awkwardness aside, our meeting went well. He managed to prevent me from careening head first into the veggie stand for one thing. Smiling his infectiously broad smile, he laughed and asked me if I’d like to get some coffee with him since clearly I hadn’t yet had enough caffeine to function properly. Affable AND sarcastic! Be still my little black heart.
I can’t say I’ve been on a better first date. Over lattes at my very most favorite coffee shop, I learned that he was funny, down to earth, witty, had the sexiest voice of all effing time. He also had the perrrrrrrfect amount of “almost-bear” with which to distract me from all rational thought and just so happened to be a chef. *SWOON* We’ll get to the fatness of my soul in a minute, but having dated a chef before it suffices to say I was stoked about the prospect of once again indulging in post coital midnight snackies of the gourmet variety. And, yes, obviously I ran the will-I-sleep-with-him math early on to determine if he’d be seeing a midnight anything with me. I’m highly efficient in that department and seconds later the results were in. It was a resounding, “yeah, I’d hit that.”
We sat there for hours just talking and laughing. This was a huge deal at the time. True connection seems to be more and more rare to begin with, but having recently come off a heart wrenchingly gruesome breakup with someone I’d thought would be the last boyfriend I’d ever have, I was certain I would never spark with anyone else ever, ever, again. Over dramatic, I know. But anyone who’s been thru it can attest that that shit SUCKS. I talk a good game, but under all that piss and vinegar I’m a romantic who doesn’t fall easily . . . when I finally do and I get my heart broken . . . it’s REALLY broken. But here I was, sitting in a booth, sparking my ass off with a handsome-but-doesn’t-know-he’s-THAT-handsome guy. How very Taylor Swift of me. Chef had somewhat recently gone thru a breakup himself. It was a long term relationship and he’d cared about her very much. It was refreshing how candid he was. He wasn’t afraid to share he’d been through some stuff and that it had hurt him which made me feel a lot better about still being a complete emotional cripple. He was unlike any guy I’d ever encountered before because he possesed a level of emotional intelligence that is all but unheard of in straight men. I also liked that he was an unapologetic smart ass and not so closeted nerd. I don’t know why, but that combination just DOES it for me. Always has.
Coffee turned into a lazy stroll around downtown, which turned into nerding out with stacks of comics at Wuxtry, which turned into an early dinner, which turned into drinks at his restuarant (presumably so that his friends could verify that I am not, in fact, a she beast). After not more than two drinks – can you IMAGINE?! We were too busy talking to drink much?! – he offered to walk me to my car. At this point we’re half coupled-up, so his arm is draped around my shoulders and I’m snuggled into him. It’s a little cold outside. Falling in the Fall is my favorite. It’s so effing romantic. Crikey. Also, he smells AMAZING. I’m literally willing myself never to wake up if this is a dream.
It’s at this point that he turns to me in what is either a remarkable level of game OR complete and total lack thereof, and says earnestly, “I already miss hanging out with you and we aren’t even to your car yet. Any chance you want to watch a movie at my place?”
Um, Yes. Yes the fuck I do . . . . .
Everyone knows someone, who knows someone, who knows who I might be. I’m smart. I’m funny. I’m reasonably attractive. I’m willing to spend more on shoes than, say, the gross national product of Uruguay. And yet, I am deeply, deeply, single. Read my other posts on The Broad Collective.
These posts are graciously syndicated from The Broad Collective, please consider donating to their fundraiser for their new makers space in Athens, Georgia.
