Met a really great guy. He likes me a lot. He makes me laugh. He’s calling regularly. He sends cute little texts to make me smile.
And it’s freaking me out. It’s too much. It’s too soon to be on a daily call basis. I mean, isn’t it?
So I did what I do. I talked with my aesthetician about it.
Me: “Is it weird that this guy is so attentive that it’s making me want to run away and move to the other side of the country?”
Her: “My sister lives in San Francisco. I used to want to live there, but it’s too cold.”
Me: “California is nice. I’ve always been happy there.”
Her: “It’s beautiful. All those quaint little towns.”
Me: “I know what you mean about it being too cold, though. And Southern California has all that traffic.”
Her: “Well, how long have you known this guy?”
Me: “A couple of weeks.”
Her: “Yes, it’s weird.”
Me: “Weird that he calls so much, or weird that I’m freaked out by it?”
Her: “Weird that you’re freaked out by it.”
Her: “Yeah. There’s something seriously wrong with you.”
I’m so glad I don’t have to tip this one.
Got an email from a friend who’s skimmed my blog. He told me that I should write about something other than the men I date. His suggestion is that I throw dog poo on a neighbor’s doorstep and write about that. I’m not quite sure how to take that one.
I actually like all my neighbors, even the nudist who’s in his fifties and conducts his life as though he were in his thirties. There’s something to be admired in that kind of chutzpah. Also, when he’s dressed, he’s a tennis instructor. I might need his skills one day. Never know when you’re going to need to bone up on your backhand.
Besides, it’s never a good idea to throw dog poo where you live.