Yesterday my sister texted me and asked if I ever talked to the guy who I gave my number to after we met at the bar.
I have a rather large family, and because on the Monday after giving “Ted” my number, my aunt, two of my sisters, and my future brother-in-law, knew about him, I figured the rest of the details would travel just as quickly. But apparently the novelty of telling everybody about Catherine’s dating life wore off, and so yesterday I found myself telling yet another one of my sisters about it.
As I texted her the details of our coffee date and subsequent dinner date, and how he then returned to Hawaii where he lives and works, it dawned on me how very lucky I was that the first guy I’ve ever been on a date with is now thousands of miles away.
This is nothing against “Ted” of course, he was an absolute gentleman, but if he actually lived and worked near me, I’d have some serious problems. For if someone texted me asking how it turned out with him and I didn’t have the perfect excuse of, he left the continent, then I would get questions. Questions like, “so when are you going out with him again?”, and then, “Why aren’t you going out with him?”, or statements like “He was nice, you should call him!” or “He really likes you, you should marry him!”
And I don’t know why my family would be so very interested in me dating and marrying this particular person, but I didn’t understand their interest when he first started talking to me at the bar.
So I’m just glad that, after literally pushing us together and saying all sorts of wonderfully inappropriate things at our first meeting, the guy that my cousins and sister tried to set me up with, left the continent.
True, if I had liked him, his move across the ocean would have been a bit tragic, but as he was pretty much just another one of my sister’s attempts to play matchmaker, I’m pretty content with the way things turned out.