So.
I did go on my date tonight.
I got there about five minutes early and grabbed a hot tea that I never even got to drink. He showed up, minus the dog. Quite honestly, I was expecting he would bring him just in case I didn’t show. And he was worried that I wouldn’t show. In fact, I had been hiding because, even up to 7 p.m., I still wasn’t sure I’d reveal myself.
But I did.
And I’m really glad I did.
Apparently I do have to date men twice my age (or thereabouts) to get all those lovely little courtesies I’d forgotten about. We had dinner. He held the door, got my chair, ordered for us, picked up the check and walked me to my car.
And it was easy to expect it all, too. Because I wasn’t worried whether he liked me. I know he did.
I think I like him. I think he’s a good guy overall. Of course I have my reservations — I have them with everyone — but for good conversation, it’s worth it.
I mean, he thinks I’m interesting. He’s surprised how much I’ve accomplished at this age. I realize in a huge way now that it takes people a lot longer to get where I’ve gotten. And even though I think I’m interesting, it’s nice to have someone acknowledge it and want to see me again so he can learn more.
I agreed to see him again Saturday.
He’s looking forward to it. I can tell.
And I think I am, too.