When I re-entered the dating pool, I jumped right in without skimming the water. I was thirty eight, she was twenty six, and I would learn very early on in the relationship that you best be careful what you wish for. So I called a married friend of mine for support, and got this instead.
February 6, 2005:
“Hey lover boy! What’s up?”
“I’m gonna break it off.”
“Already? How long has it . .”
“Two weeks, give or take my sanity.”
“Ah, she’s crazy huh?.”
“No, she’s great. We have great conversations, great sex, great sleeping mojo, and for once . . I actually have a social life.”
“I’m sorry, you’re breaking up with a hot stripper because she makes you happy?”
“Dude, strippers are like doctors. They don’t have to be practicing to be of great value.”
“We went clubbing last night and we’re sitting right up against each other, so she asks me if I’m having fun. By texting me.”
“Shut up. I’m getting NO sleep. We got in at two thirty, she was up at 6! We’re supposed to go to an Eagles Super Bowl party later . . I’d rather have root canal.
“Here’s some advice. You drink too much, call in sick tomorrow and catch up on sleep. I do it every year.”
“I swear, I never saw a person with so many friends, and they’re all named Zach or Dallas . . it’s like an M. Night movie. Oh, and they’re gonna be playing beer pong,”
“A ping pong tournament where the winner reports directly to AA, ain’t a fun game. It’s a cry for help. And they’ll probably be playing Call of Duty too . . shit.”
“My nephew loves that game.”
“Right, he’s twelve years old.”
“Just tell her you work tomorrow and you want to bounce early.”
“I don’t want her to think I can’t hang.”
“So you break up, that’s much better.”
“If not for the fact I have the kids this week, do you realize the shit I was gonna be subjected to?”
“I don’t know, sex and partying?”
“She’s going skiing, on a weeknight. There’s wings and beer every Wednesday. And Thursday, a friend of hers is playing the Chameleon. I know that sounds like fun and games for you Honey Do Lister’s, but trust me, the reality is exhausting.”
“Spoken like a thirty eight year old man whose idea of a good time is pizza delivery and a Tarantino marathon.”
“Carolyn insists I don’t look a day over thirty.”
“Of course she does. Women are blind when they’re having sex with a guy. Like, Jenny insists I’m not fat.”
“Whatever, I’m gonna talk to her today.”
“Don’t do something you’re gonna regret.”
“Regret? It’s been two weeks! I’ve left my car parked longer than that.”
“Give it another week, maybe things will slow down. You’ll get bored with each other, the sex will become less frequent. And then you’ll be happy.”
One Week Later . . .
I chose Barnes and Noble and delivered the news over mocha coffees. Her response was to invite me rock climbing. It occurred to me inside that moment, that I had chosen right, even if we were all wrong for each other.
Love is a funny thing.