Oh, how my friends laughed at the Opera and (no) chill story! “Poor guy. You’re evil, Vanilla!” No, no I am not. I am sometimes trapped by my insecurities, especially when I care about the outcome.
I sent Beaut the link to that post. He loved it. And then he was silent. I was miserable: I’d put it all out there. This was completely outside of my comfort zone: asking a guy out, writing about him, acknowledging that I’d wanted more that a simple kiss on the cheek and that I needed more time before letting my guard down. If he didn’t follow up, I couldn’t possibly continue pursuing him. I was exhausted.
Luckily for me, 24 hours later Beaut invited me over for supper. Chez lui. He would cook for me. If that isn’t charming, I don’t know what is.
Yesterday was the day. I was nervous. I was extremely nervous. I hadn’t heard from him all day – why was he being quiet? Maybe Beaut had changed his mind. Maybe he was going to cancel on me. Maybe he had found somebody better. Maybe he was a player, and he’d decided I was simply too vanilla. I couldn’t concentrate. Vulnerability was overrated. Here I was, facing disappointment, an evening alone, and risking starvation. I was done. No more dating for me: I was ready to embrace my life as a cat-less cat-lady.
As I was about to take a vow of chastity, Beaut messaged me to let me know that he was about to go grocery shopping for our dinner. He was looking forward to it. He also admitted that being a total bachelor, living alone, he’d never bothered investing in a kitchen table. Solemnly, he listed our alternatives: picnic on the bed, picnic on the floor, eating at his work desk.
You guys. Cute. Inviting someone over for dinner with no table is cute. It also struck me as something only a guy would do. In his shoes, I would have never invited anyone over. Ever. I would embrace a cat-lady lifestyle rather than allow anyone to witness my unorthodox interior design.
I was doubtful as to what supper would taste like. I correlated absent kitchen furniture with absent cooking skills. Very ironic, since I have a fully stocked kitchen, and I can’t cook to save my life. Well, I’d underestimated him. Beaut had planned a 3-course meal. A healthy delicious 3-course meal. I assumed those 2 adjectives were mutually exclusive. I was amazed; he was confused about my amazement – he was just cooking normal food. Wrong, sir. Wrong.
We ate picnic-style on his living room floor. The walls were covered in hand-written notes, organized in batches. He explained that, since the age of 16, he’s enjoyed drafting outlines for novels. This was his most recent attempt, organized by character groupings: each page was a character description, below an overall summary of their character arc. There was a camera tripod; Beaut takes an interest in photography. He likes to sew. He’s pursuing a university certificate in a field dramatically different from his current career because he “needed mental stimulation”. His dream is to one day open a restaurant.
As the conversation flowed, always funny, never boring, I realized that my frequent surprise at his stories and opinions was driven from a deep-seated conviction that a beautiful man such as Beaut must be a narrow-minded douchebag. Sure, I’d always been intrigued by his reserve, but then again, I’ve always made the mistake of assuming silence means substance. I’d agreed to his supper invite expecting him to confirm my bias at some point or the other. I’d been all wrong. Thank goodness I didn’t take that vow of chastity!
After 2 hours of good food, unexpected conversation, and respectful distances, I told him that if the night ended and he hadn’t even TRIED to kiss me, I’d be pissed.
Beaut happily obliged. 🙂
Boom. Opera and no chill: it is a thing.