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September 24, 2000
Dishing the dirt
So. The date. It was really nice. Ben's a sweetheart, and a perfect gentleman. I spent most of yesterday -- after I cleaned the apartment -- doing girly things to get ready. I had refreshed the hair dye the night before, so Saturday I made sure my dress was cat fur and wrinkle-free, and did my nails, and played with makeup for a while. Called my mom and babbled about how nervous I was. Emailed friends about how nervous I was. Drove them all nuts, I'm sure. Got dressed way to early, then sat around fidgeting until I figured it was time to catch the bus. Ben called once, to make sure we were still on for the evening. He said he'd be at the bus stop where we were meeting early, which is a good thing, since I was about a half hour early myself. I got there, and saw him right away, waiting across the street. He gave me a nice hug, and a kiss on the cheek (aw!) and we set off for a walk around the North End. We didn't really have plans; we figured we'd just wing it, and do whatever we felt like doing. We ended up sitting down by the water in a little park that has a great view of the USS Constitution, talking for about an hour. He's travelled more extensively than I have (he said "We'll have to get you out more, you need to travel!") so we talked about that, and our families, and our roommates, and all sorts of thing until we got hungry and decided to go get some dinner. What we didn't realize was that the restaurants in the North End do reservations -- most restaurants in Boston don't -- so we had to try a few places before we found one that could squeeze us in. He ordered for me -- that always impresses me, for some reason -- and we had a great dinner. Mine was chicken, baked with a slice of proscuitto and mozzerella on top, smothered in mushrooms, in some sort of white wine sauce -- delicious. More talking, until the host started giving us dirty looks because there were people waiting to be seated. We left, and wandered down toward Government Center, where we had drinks (and more talking) in a little pub. Spent maybe an hour there, then got on the T and headed for Newbury Street. We walked from one end to the other -- holding hands by that time, very comfortably -- and looked in the windows of the fancy shops. Stopped for cheesecake and coffee, then, since it was still early, went to The Silvertone (which is now one of my new favorite spots) for yet more drinks, and more talking. My throat hurt by the time I got home, from talking so much. I had almost no voice at all this morning. He's very easy to talk to -- and it seemed odd to be with someone who has no Issues. I generally go for guys with some sort of painful past -- I guess because I think I can fix them. I almost didn't know how to act toward someone who's so comfortable with himself, and who seems to have no deep dark secrets, no wounds to bare. We debated politics, and religion ("Two subjects you're not supposed to discuss on a first date," he joked) and books, and music, and everything else under the sun. We agreed on most things, but disagreed on enough to make it interesting. He surprised me at one point by interrupting to say "I know you're going through a lot, and I don't want to seem to rush you, but I'd really like to go out with you again." Made me warm and fuzzy inside. Afetr the Silvertone, he walked me to Haymarket to wait for my bus (it was nearly midnight by that time), and... ahem... much goodnight kissing ensued. In public. Whee! And, well, he's a damn fine kisser. My bus arrived, and I went home feeling giddy. It was strange to go out with someone who treated me nicely... and yet today, I'm a little mixed up. I do like him, he seems to be a very caring and honest person. But I guess I just don't want to give my heart to anyone, at all. It's all mine now, you see, and I don't know if I want to share it. Beth tells me this is a healthy thing -- she said "Just have fun with it. Not every date has to be FOREVER, you know. It's the best thing for you." mind.)
All in all, it was very nice. I'd certainly see him again, if he asks. Positive male influence is good, or so my therapist says.
Posted by Mary Ellen at September 24, 2000 04:50 PM