Summer Loving Had Me a Blast…

Well, I can't use my guy's real picture, and he has given me that look before.

Last night I was out on a date with my friend Jane and it got me reminiscing about our past dates, especially the one in which I met my good friend Mr. Big (sorry for robbing from SATC), who has been recently dropping hints about how to represent him in my blog, so here goes.

It was a cold weekday night in January, and Jane and I ended up at Spoleto’s, a local Italian restaurant that has a bar.  The only available seats were at the corner of the bar, which meant that we were going to face some guys sitting at the perpendicular bar stools.  I sassily said, Oh great, these guys are going to talk to us now, hoping that would scare them away.  I was wrong, and boy was I glad because one of them turned out to be the funniest man that I had ever met.

The next day I told a friend that I had met Big and she told me that he was married.  I didn’t see a ring, nor, frankly, did he do any “we” talk.  That kind of deflated me, but I had this sense about him and so a couple of weeks later Jane and I went out again, heading to a spot that he mentioned that he worked at.  Sure enough, he was there, but before we could get his attention, a flock of guys started swarming around us (married Jane is a guy magnet, which her hubby loves).  I stood up and went to talk to Big.  He of course remembered me and when I pointed Jane out across the room being circled by vultures, he asked if I wanted him to help us scare the guys away.  I did.  He did, and we had another great non-date, where his witticisms made me write them down for posterity and, importantly, he told us the story of his impending divorce.  I tried not to act excited at the news.  He said that he wasn’t sure if he was staying in town or moving away, and when I asked him coyly when our third date would happen, he said, oh I’m sure I’ll catch you girls around town.  I left with my uneaten bait still in hand.

I must confess that I looked around for him for a while but then I started seeing someone else and put him out of my mind.  Four months later, I was out once again with my gal pal Jane, feeling particularly irked at my ex (a story that will be told at some point in the future), and who do we see walking in our direction on Main Street?  That’s right, Mr. Big.  We both squealed with excitement and insisted that he have a drink with us, at which point Jane not so subtly bowed out (she’s a great wingwoman).  We hung out that night, but when I asked to see him again, he said, I really can’t date.  Dating leads to divorce.

Under normal circumstances, I would have run from such cynicism, but he was the funniest guy I had ever met, and I was already hooked.  We exchanged cell phone numbers and sent each other a couple of flirty texts before he left on a two-week beach vacation.  I tried once again to forget him, and then one night he called me while I was out on a date with a sweet guy from my gym.  Now there’s a reason guys don’t want to be called sweet because by sweet I really mean boring.  I ended the date early so that I could go home and call Big back.  We had an incredibly entertaining two-hour phone call (which sort of counts like a date, right?) at the end of which he invited me to spend a night at the beach cottage he was renting on the coast a little over two hours away.  I accepted without hesitation.

When I got there at 11’sh on a Tuesday morning, he had the whole day planned.  He had packed a picnic lunch for the beach, then we were heading to a bar to have oysters on the half shell, then swimming in a beautiful freshwater pool on a friend’s property, and finally a barbecue at his cottage with his brother.  The next day we visited another crystal clear swimming hole and then had the best lobster roll I have ever eaten.  Yeah, it sorta felt like a date.

Yet he still made it clear that he wasn’t ready to date and couldn’t get involved with anyone.  Oh and the kid thing?  He couldn’t do it.  I accepted his terms because I so enjoyed his company and felt such a great connection that nothing was going to stop me from seeing him.

So I decided that he was going to be my summer romance.  He was between jobs and had a pretty free schedule so we often hung at his tree house (yes, he was like twelve), grilling, drinking beer, dancing to seventies music and playing Scrabble.  We communicated daily, as he helped me with my crossword puzzles (I am such a sucker for a word guy).

It didn’t end as fall approached (that was two years ago).  In fact, I’m not sure if it has even ended now.  Several months into it I finally admitted my feelings to myself and used the big “L” word.  It took him a while but he reciprocated, the morning that he was moving a thousand miles away.  It was like a scene in a movie, with his truck packed full of stuff.  I love you, Mols.  Fade to black.

Big, as his moniker would suggest, has been an important part of my post-divorce life because he taught me to love again (insert your favorite seventies song).  His marriage ended with him feeling sorely criticized, and I left mine knowing that I had often been too critical of my ex, yet we changed those patterns with each other.  He told me that I was the closest thing to unconditional love that he had ever experienced, and I was happy that I could love a man who despite his limitations brought me great joy.  And you know my motto, more love is more love.

Related posts:

1. Dating…a Spectator Sport
2. Traveling and Texting
3. I Like a Guy Who Can…Talk
4. Who is in Your Bed?
5. Rest in Peace