I'm still working and I don't have time to be blogging right now.
It's a huge distraction.
But I just have to come on here for a little bit, I can't stay away.
I have gone out a few times with a cerain gentleman, a.k.a., H.I.M.*, and all is well.
The other day I went and bought lunch. I got a bunch of stuff from the gourmet grocery store, chicken and sides and whatnot. One of the little tubs had peas. I love peas. I brought it home, and he politely said "I don't like peas." And I thought Oh my God I don't know what he likes it's over.
I have been alive for 32 years, yet I'm still just a giggly nervous little girl. I can see myself: I have a white dress with pink flowers that rises just above my knobby knees. And I twiddle my fingers and chew on my lip a lot. Because I do that in real-life. Not the dress, but the rest of it, yes.
Okay the dress too.
I get on the phone and I practice what I'm going to say, and then I say something completely different. And whatever I do say is obviously the worst thing I could have said, which I obsess over for the rest of the day until I get a headache, which only goes away if he calls me and I get to speak impromptu, thereby not disappointing myself with all the things I was "going to say" but didn't. But then, I can't just sit around and wait for him to call me, that's rude. And there, the torture starts. I feel like a geisha, tip-toeing around with a pot of tea, trying not to do or say the wrong thing. H.I.M. does nothing to encourage this, he's been nothing but delightful and suppportive and gracious. It's all me.
It will go away eventually I realize.
But I think anyone would probably prefer going out to dinner with an adult, instead of a whimpering nervous mess. The latter just isn't very good company.
* H.I.M. = Homosexual Intended Mate: The beginning stages of the courtship process. Fingers are crossed.
Or should it be
H.I.M. = Hopefully Inamorato Male? ("Inamorato" is another word for "boyfriend") This one is more universal, but a bit obscure. Hmm.
I shant blog about H.I.M. on here as I fear someone, somewhere, will read it and tell him about what I say. Such is the downfall of putting your name and face on your blog. And if this is YOU reading this, then...well...hi. Welcome to the inner workings of my brain. Lucky for you, I'm an open book and what you see is what you get anyway so there will be no secrets here. Nor will I ever talk about you. If you want that to happen, get your own blog, mister.