Strongly Worded

UpDATE #501,211

Things with Banter Boy have progressed nicely. We email multiple times a day. He knows about my history of seizures, my blog (which he's decided not to read), and my irrational fear of driving. I know comparable things about him. And despite his really aggressive love for his cats, he accepts my dislike of cat hair and has made efforts to limit my exposure to it.

Banter Boy is also exceptionally attentive and takes pride in his knowledge of our city's restaurant scene. (Sigh.) When I mentioned my love of macaroni and cheese, he took me to the area's premier supplier. When I mentioned my love of lemons and asparagus, he scoured online menus until he found one that featured both. Last weekend's meal incorporated both an asparagus timbale and a lemon custard souffle, and is definitely among the best ever.

We have already flexed our communication muscles and discussed (at length) the extent of his Relationship Readiness (he relatively recently broke up with a girlfriend of nine years). I maintain that his heart is in smithereens, he has assured me it is not. We have also discussed (also at length) our ability to bond and transcend banter. Our interaction thus far has been completely open and lacking coyness, hard-to-get-ness, and emotional restraint.

It is only because of my sick, twisted psychosis that I've been careful and cagey about any references to any possible glimmer of a shared future. Until last week I insisted that we both continue to see other people, and I refused to tell anyone about our blossoming romance. I continue to preface everything with IWFIL (If We Fall In Love). Example: IWFIL, I'll come with you to Maine this summer. IWFIL, we'll work out a way to reconcile your love of A/C with my love of warmth and fresh air. IWFIL, we'll shave your cats so they stop shedding. (Well, maybe not the last part.)

Despite all his kindness and unmistakable affection for me, I cannot relax into the fact that this is all spectacularly lovely. I keep thinking back upon Mr. O, who showered me with attention, gave me an iPod, and then retracted everything about a week later because he realized he wasn't over his ex (I kept the iPod, of course). That experience has made me gun shy, but this is not just about him.

This is about me and my relentlessly pessimistic psyche. She hovers around and dangles her slingback sandals, waiting to drop the second shoe.

Posted by Dori at 3:32 PM