I’ve never had much game when it came to making initial conversation with women I find attractive. But despite this affliction, I managed to marry a hottie, whom I love truly and deeply. The fact that she dealt with my inability to read signs of flirtation (and the countless other character defects she’s put up with over the years) is truly astounding to me. She’s always been brave that way.
When we first met, she made it easier for me to talk to her (see my “A Love Story” blog), by making me the best, most life-changing bagel I would ever eat. Unfortunately, that bagel wasn’t the tipping point that sent us off holding hands and skipping through the streets of Chester, England while Sting’s song “Englishmen in New York” played in the background as we headed toward the wedding chapel. Because I didn’t realize she liked me – I mean liked me, liked me, the way we used to differentiate the two when I was younger (I’m told now that is has to do with the capitalization of words and number of heart emojis sent between young people, but that’s a topic for another time) . I thought she was just beautiful, and really cool, and liked to make bagels for her guests. As mentioned, I had no aptitude for these situations, no “love radar” that began beeping incessantly, and I certainly didn’t think I was worthy of this Emerald-eyed Wonder Woman in the wooly sweater that first made me the bagel. I did ask a few questions about her and found out that upon arriving in England, and before our chance meeting, she had spent some time with the other Brits, and was being sought after already by a nice English Boy. Of course she was, and in my mind, the lad must have been a young Hugh Grant, who was all the rage back in those days. How could I compete with Hugh?
So into the “friend zone” I went, always feeling that wonderful, horrible anxiety when she was around – trying my best to be cool and to say just the right thing – always feeling like I blew it. To hear her tell the story, she was sending off vibes and messages the whole time that she was interested in me. And sure, she did ask if I was going to the college’s formal dance (I wasn’t, of course), and did want to get a picture with me before she went, but that’s normal friend-zone behavior, right?
She also did make a point to sit next to me during the hysterical political dinner we American students were invited to with the Mayor and local officials. After several cocktails the Mayor leaned into me confidentially and shared his views about how the U.S.A. had lost all moral compass after shucking off Colonial Rule. When I remained mute throughout these ramblings, he threw up his hands and said: “Well, all I really care about concerning you Yanks is how you’re going to end the Twin Peaks show.” She and I had a good laugh about this interaction, and about our overall experiences on the Island while the Berlin Wall was being ripped down and the first Bush war ravaged through Iraq.
All the Americans on the exchange program became friends, just like we were. Good friends. True, she did seem to sit just that much closer than other girls did, and she would touch my arm or leg frequently to emphasize a point. And I suppose it was true that when she looked at me there was something in her eyes, in those green eyes, that I wanted to fall into. But she was from Long Island, an area we collectively referred to as “The City” where I was from (any point south of Albany fell into this category), and I supposed that city people just sat closer, were more touchy-feely, and were, in general, better looking than us Upstate folks. I also couldn’t forget Hugh Grant, sweet talking Hugh Grant, even though she had made a point of saying that she didn’t like him, like him and that he was, in English terms, a complete wanker.
Plus I had no game. I would hear much later on that alcoholics are great examples of ego maniacs with an inferiority complex, able to fake confidence at times but never believing their own bravado. Yup. I would also learn about a common trick during active addiction called the Geographic Cure. When problems associated with our drinking or drug use become too great, we simply leave the bar, or town, or relationship(s) to (temporarily) solve these problems. In my case, I had developed a habit for leaving places and people for just this reason – it was actually the primary reason that I ran all the way to England, to escape. I became convinced that the mounting problems I was facing were in fact caused by alcohol, but it was because the U.S.A. was way too uptight about underage drinking. And England wasn’t. So away I went, vowing not to return until I was 21 and legal to drink – a promise I kept, by the way. Unfortunately, I brought the problem (which was me) with me. And getting into another relationship, especially a relationship with someone who seemed to have the capacity to really get me to like her, seemed worse than unwise. It seemed dangerous. And besides, she didn’t even really like me anyway.
It was the QTip that woke me up. She sent me a QTip. In the mail. It was after a long conversation we had (her sitting too close to me, me trying not to flinch when she would touch me, or to look too long at those eyes or to say something stupid) about how good it feels to use a QTip. Looking back, our talk was quite flirty, even sensual, and centered around physical sensations that feel really good. She suggested regular usage of a QTip, something I hadn’t thought of, but that I thought was a really good idea because it does feel so good. She had also witnessed my pathetic trips to the college’s mailroom, hoping in vain for a letter from someone other than my family (not that I didn’t appreciate the letters, Mom). It was my first lesson in finding out that many of my “friends” were really drinking buddies, and drinking buddies don’t usually follow you, or write you, or remember you for long once you leave the bar. They just find other drinking buddies that are now sitting on your barstool. This was also before the age of cell phones and internet use and Star Trek – like technology where everyone can tap a few buttons and talk to each other lickety-split. I had written to several friends, but my daily trips to the mailroom were as desperate as Charlie Brown looking for a valentine. Until the day she sent the QTip, taped to a small note that said she enjoyed our conversation and that she hoped using the thing would feel good. It was signed with a heart (hand drawn, no emoji).
It was getting close to the end of the first semester at Chester College when this happened, and we had a few other flirty, late night chats after she sent me the QTip. One happened the night before she was flying home with a handful of Americans for the December Break. The next day I rode to the airport with the crew to see them off. I gave the customary hugs to everyone as we parted, and when it was our turn, she hugged me a bit tighter, a bit longer, and then kissed me square on the mouth before turning and running towards the gate. Oh Boy – I finally started to believe that she might like me. I mean, really like me.
Fast forward twenty-nine years. A long time. A lifetime. A love story that continues with my Emerald-eyed Wonder Woman. There are so many things I’m thankful for, besides the fact that she’s put up with me for all this time, and most of them come back to that bravery she showed me on the first day we met. It’s not easy to put yourself out there, to open up and connect with people and to take a chance even though you might get hurt. I went to England to run away, to disconnect, to escape from everyone and everything. But she went to meet new people, have new adventures, and to learn new things. That’s brave. We’ve been through plenty of trials and tribulations in these last three decades, death losses, financial problems, floods, the challenges of raising kids, and cancer – just to name a few. And she’s been brave through all of it, braver than she gives herself credit for, braver than she probably really knows. But I see it. So it doesn’t really surprise me, because she’s always been that way – I knew it from the first Love QTip I got from my Wonder Woman.
You are very blessed to have found each other. soul mates are hard to find. God bless.
Wonder Woman is also very wise. She has the ability to know a special person when she sees one . She knew not to let you get away! A very good decision!