As we were eager to see each other again, my next two dates with Kayak Guy happened in quick succession. For date number two we met up at a restaurant and then grabbed a drink at a nearby bar. “Nearby” is misleading in this case, however, since we were absorbed in conversation we walked right past the bar and kept going.
As it’s winter in Wisconsin it goes without saying that this walk was cold. But it was one of those days with a wind that cuts through any layers of clothing to slap ice against your skin. He wasn’t wearing a hat or gloves. I kept insisting that the bar must be on the next block. At times we were straight up running because it was so freaking cold. So despite the fact that the bar was three storefronts down from the restaurant, I succeeded in taking him on a 10 block frostbite march detour. Go me! But he was completely good natured about it while not missing the opportunity to mock me. Perfect balance. Points, Kayak Guy.
It got to 9 p.m. on this school night, and he suggested that we go. This was perfectly reasonable: we both had to work the next day, it was only date number two, and we had already talked about what we were going to do on date number three. Absolutely, completely reasonable. My brain, however, was not.
“He wants to go? That must mean he does not like me! Why doesn’t he want to spend more time with me? I must be boring him!” said the irrational girlish part of my brain.
“Shut up, irrational girlish part of me,” the rest of my brain said. “We have been hanging out with him for three hours already. Also, do you have an off switch?”
“No, I don’t,” my irrational girlish part of my brain stuck out its tongue. “But do you think he’s going to kiss us? SQUEEEEEEEEE!!!”
Outside the bar he gave me a cheek-to-cheek hug. As he pulled away I stayed exactly where I was in hopes that he wouldn’t pull away too far and we could have one of those “Oh! Look! Our lips are so handy to kiss each other right now! Well then...”
No dice. Sigh.
Date number three started with sledding. I wish most of my dates started with sledding. We laughed until we were out of breath, covered in snow, and slightly injured. At one point as Kayak Guy was sledding down the hill a six year-old girl came over and asked if he was my husband. I managed to keep myself from saying, “Oh honey, I haven’t even jumped him yet,” and went with the standard, “No, he isn’t my husband.” Most of this was to her back since at the word “no” she turned on her heel and walked away. It was if she was saying, “Ugh! Get it together!”
After sledding we had tea and ended up renting a movie and heading back to my place. This was looking good. The movie was from the 80s and was about a broke Afghan man in Iran who, to raise money to pay for the medical care his wife needed, road a bike in a circle for seven days straight. Yeah. The sad part is the movie isn’t even as good as it sounds.
More unfortunate: decidedly NOT a cuddle movie.
Kayak Guy was certainly trying! We were smushed up next to each other on my couch, and he was doing cuddly things like putting his head on my shoulder. I was trying to reciprocate, but I couldn’t figure out when was a good time to try to hold his hand: during one of the scenes where his wife is writhing in pain in the hospital or one of the flashback scenes of his abject poverty?
But the movie ended, we had a thumb war, and we finally started making out. Thank god. Three good dates in and cuddling through a movie left me about to explode. And now if that six year-old asks me if he’s my husband, I can at least point to the bite marks on my neck.
