I Think Yatch!

When Rex messaged me on Match.com I wasn't blown away by his picture. In fact it kind of scared me. He had assumed what I like to think of as the football player pose; crossed arms and a fight face. All that seemed to be missing were pads and a helmet. But his opening line showed he had read my profile so I clicked through his pictures. Lots of pictures of him on a boat (I like boats), one of him on a child's tricycle (shows his playful side I guess), and some miscellaneous ones, including the dreaded mirror photo. Despite the fraught with trouble mirror photo, and probably because of the goofy photo on a tricycle, I emailed him back. We messaged back and forth and eventually he asked for my phone number. As he didn't seem psychotic I gave it to him.

We then texted for a few days. To be honest, I prefer texting, having been really put off by the first two prospects voices. Plus, it has a much less serious air to it. If he turns out to be crazy I can pretend he is just a book and close that chapter. Hearing a voice makes the person on the other side of the line seem more real. Via text I learn that he has a boat. And by boat, I mean yacht. It has three bedrooms and two bathrooms. I also learn he likes hockey (he's Canadian, eh), doesn't know much about college basketball (we all have our flaws), and thinks I am funny (clearly he has a good sense of humor).

So... we make plans to meet one evening after my yoga class. This is all strategy on my part. The later I push the start time of a date, the less time I actually have to spend with him should he be awful. I mean, he owns a yacht and a house on the beach, he is probably insufferably snobby, right?

Wrong-o, Crigger-chan. He is nothing but lovely!

In my usual fashion I end up running late to meet him. I totally miscalculated how long it would take me to get home from yoga, shower, pull myself together, and actually get to the restaurant. By 8:00 I realize I am going to be late. Really late actually, since I was supposed to be at the restaurant already. I text him, saying "I'm really sorry, but I'm running late, but will be there by 8:30."

To which he responds, "Take your time. No big deal. :)"

The smiley face was his, not mine.

Whaaaaaaaat?! You aren't mad at me for being late? It isn't the end of the world that I am running behind? You realize that good things come to those who wait? You see that I am someone worth waiting on? Rex, at this point you could look like Quasimodo's ugly brother and I might not care. At least not tonight.

I arrive at the restaurant and find him waiting outside. He opens the door, lets me pick the seat (unlike some people...) doesn't even flinch when I order nice bourbon and then proceed to eat a sizable helping of sushi and sashimi. We chatted about everything with no awkward pauses. He was interesting and smart, and as far from snobby as you can get! Which was surprising given the size of his yacht.

He even seemed to enjoy my detail laden stories, or at least he faked his interest well. I have dated people in the past that didn't enjoy my variety of story-telling. The first time that man told me to "cut to the chase" I should have cut out the door. We stayed at the restaurant until closing time chatting with the bartender about my favorite topic, Kentucky. And when the valet brought his keys to him, he tipped him handsomely. I find it immensely attractive when people are generous and kind to waiters, valets, service clerks, etc...

When the bill came and I asked, "What's the damage?" He snatched it away and replied, "No damage!"

What? We aren't going dutch? You aren't trying to take me home? This is a good first date.