The scoop? I gave online dating a whirl recently. I figured it was worth a shot - after all, that was how I met The Ex nearly eight years ago, and while, yes, we are divorced now, there was much about our time together that truly didn’t suck. There were lessons learned, laughter and fun times had, positive change, that sort of thing. Good stuff. And lately, I have been feeling ready to welcome more good stuff into my life.
Because I am tragically Type A, before each online-dating-site date, I reviewed my list of traits I am looking for in a man. (It’s two pages. Typed. Single-spaced. Yeah — Type A and irrepressibly optimistic.) I also re-read the Asshat Recovery posts so they’d be fresh in my mind. And let me tell you, folks - at this point, I could spot an Asshat from a mile away. I passed on a few of them swiftly and without regret. And since the flip side of knowing what I don’t want is knowing what I do want, well, I recognized that when I found it, too.
Enter the guy I’m going to call The Weatherman.
(And no, he’s not an actual meteorologist, so quit checking out Rhode Island’s weather-dudes trying to figure out who he is. He needed a name, this works for a variety of reasons, and the coolest boyfriend title in the blogosphere, The Boyfran, was already claimed by Aussa Lorens. And she could totally kick my ass.)
As I realize it is possible at this point that I am a tragic victim of oxytocin poisoning (see Ms. Bradley-Colleary’s post on the subject), I did what any good Type A chicky would do to get clear. I made a list of things I know about The Weatherman.
Is punctual. Like, set-your-watch-by-him punctual. And yeah, punctuality gets me all hot and bothered.
Is thoughtful. Brings flowers, but also goes beyond that standard wooing fare to come up with personal, meaningful gifts.
Is genuinely interested in and appreciative of my work. You know - in spite of the fact that I am a chick lit author and he is a straight guy.
Willingly accompanied me to a family event. Didn’t flee when he got a glimpse of my gene pool.
Retired from one successful career and moved on to another. Enjoys his work and is all grown-up-y like that.
Owns a home that does not look like a scene out of Old School.
Knows where his kitchen is and how to do stuff with food there. Seems unlikely to starve to death just because there isn’t a woman in the house.
Is also capable of slow-dancing in said kitchen. While singing. On-key.
Runs at my pace. (Not a character marker, I know, but it makes me glad.)
Seems very interested in offering me not what he thinks I want, but what I know I need.
Since I know The Weatherman reads my blog, I’ll leave it at that for now. I don’t want the poor guy’s head to swell to the point where he can’t get out the door.