You're Leaving Fingers Crossed, Arkansas Now

“I still believe in Hope - mostly because there's no such place as Fingers Crossed, Arkansas.” – Molly Ivins

Despite my uber-pessimism in all things Love and Relationships (The glass is half full? I never got a glass!), I still harbor a modicum of Hope. It’s hidden deep, sure, like in my thighs where everything else seems to congregate (French Fry meet Hope), but I know it exists.

Last week, I went on my billionth first date. At my (Golden) age, a product of wasting 7 years with a Yukkell, letting the “good guy” get away once or twice, living in DC, and low self-esteem. (Although I might argue that the low self-esteem is a product of that guy, that guy, that guy, and all those guys.) To the world, I put on the face of pessimism and say things like, “Here we go again” (eyeroll), or “He has no where to go but up” (used car man smile), and “I’m not expecting to be swept off my feet” (Mother Theresa nod).

But deep down (from the deepest regions of my thighs) I think but never say out loud, “Might this be the one?” I dare to hope.

It might be because, prior to meeting in person, we shared good rapport with a volley of sarcastic banter complete with a McEnroe helping of “C’mon!!! Are you blind?!?!”. Oh, I did throw my tennis racket and was ready to dismiss him when the line became so blurred between the Sarcasm and the Deadpan. Did he just rename my neighborhood unfavorably? A neighborhood, I would argue, he also lives in. And so I suggested a West Side Story rumble. I kindly offered to bring the choreography.

So I agreed to meet him. You know, if I must.

In the end, I was pleasantly surprised. Not because the date ended up being fun, easy, and definitely memorable. Not because he was generous with his laughter. Not because he wore good shoes. Not because he gave great hugs, affection, and a better kiss. But because he asked me out on a second date and persisted when I had to turn him down due to a prior engagement. So he rung me again and we firmed up a second date. He's cooking and I'm baking!

I can feel the squish of Hope rubbing in my thighs now.

Avoiding the treadmill for now...