I relapsed a little. I spent Friday night Facebook stalking my crush. Before you judge me, what else is a sober, celibate person supposed to do? Go to a paella making class or watch flamenco? Where am I? Spain?
But in my defense, he started it! He liked four of my photos in a row. He might as well have just poked me or sent a “thinking of you” note.
And when I say stalk, it was 5 minutes max, ok maybe 10…but that was it! (Admit it, you do the exact same thing when you like someone.)
I suppose he’s more than a crush…we had a brief dalliance before I left for Remote Year. And, to be honest, it was one of my favorite flings ever.
We both knew this wasn’t going anywhere. He was moving, I was moving, and yet I had deeper conversations with him than I’ve had with lifelong friends. He was sweet, and funny, and gorgeous, and tall, and talented…but young.
I don’t mean that as a criticism. If anything it made him more endearing and I could focus on the fun. (No, this is not eloquent email guy I wrote about a few days ago.) And sexy…so sexy. *sigh* I’m officially a cougar, I guess (#SorryImNotSorry).
But my favorite memory of him is standing in my kitchen helping me. I had struggled with a lock for hours and he fixed it in a matter of minutes. Same with the fancy flashlight I couldn’t get to work. This may sound trivial to you but it was a pivotal moment for me because I realized I hadn’t asked for help in years. I’ve always been the one to take care of the guy I’m dating and here this younger guy I barely know is helping me. Wanting to help me. Enthusiastic even.
It was nice.
And it made me miss being in a partnership. Not with him, obviously, but it gave me a glimpse into what it would be like if I chose to date someone who wanted to make life easier for me instead of convenient for them. I literally never ask for help from anyone I’ve dated in the past three years because I didn’t want to be a nuisance. Even for something as stupid as setting a lock code.