My church is always trying to get me to exercise. They find clever ways to make me get out and
about on foot. One way is downright
sneaky; they promised brunch in the middle of a two-mile walk. I will exercise if the food involved is
actual food and not some gluten-free, vegan, tofu thingamabob. I don’t mind
“bobs”, per se, I simply prefer them
to be at the end of a “ka”, as in KA-BOBS, which is Persian for “meat
stick”. I think.
Anyway, I was
tricked into walking and it was August so I dressed appropriately. August in SoCal is like August in Mississippi
with a barely noticeable difference in humidity. In other words, it is hot as a firecracker, y’all. It is the only explanation for my ensemble which
set an inaccurate precedent for the budding relationship that would come from
this serendipitous brunch. My ensemble was
plaid walking shorts, a navy polo shirt, tennis shoes and a ball cap. I looked like everyone else near the beach,
well everyone that was wearing actual shoes and a shirt. Yes, I know, I was disappointed but too hot to care.
Once we completed our trudge in the heat, I was pleasantly surprised to find someone I
didn’t know had joined our little group.
He was the friend of a friend and was just the nicest man. We had a great time laughing and talking and
I had planned on exchanging numbers before we left but I was sidelined by the
goodbyes. When a group of gay men depart, it’s like Bid Day at a sorority; hugs, tears, the occasional song. Before I knew it he was gone and I was
numberless. Thank goodness for Facebook.
After a little
Facebook stalking on his part, he found me, messaged me and we agreed to a
brunch date. I knew he hadn’t seen my
normal wardrobe and I know my clothing style is more than some people can
handle, so I attempted to dress down as it were. I paired a fuchsia polo with navy chinos to
lessen the drama and hoped he would fall madly in like on our first date and I
could then bust out the brighter colors in the casual pant section of my
closet. He didn’t seem to notice, which
is unusual for a gay guy but I wasn’t mad at him, people. I like my guys to be guys.
Our date lasted 8
hours (including a sand-castle building competition) and we had a blast. We made plans
for the following weekend but he called me on Tuesday to ask me to dinner with
friends and I agreed. I mentioned I
would be wearing clothing unlike he was used to but he said he didn’t care what
I wore. I arrived in teal chinos and a
navy polo and he didn’t bat an eye.
We then proceeded
to date for several months. You can tell
I really liked him because I voluntarily agreed to ride bikes around Balboa
Island and didn’t even scream, cuss or kick the bike when he caused me to
wreck. He had suddenly pulled in front of me
on the street and when I went to use the hand brakes, I realized there weren’t
any; the brakes were on the pedals, old-school style. We ended up in a heap with me bleeding and
repeatedly telling him I was fine even though I lost about 11 gallons of blood. When I told my sister what happened, she
said, “Did you throw the bike in the water?”
When I said no, she replied, “Wow, you must have been trying to impress
him because I’ve met you before and you would’ve stomped or thrown that bike.” As if.
Although we had
fun on all our many dates, nothing ever seemed to move into the romantic realm. We hadn’t held hands and it was date 10; not
even on a harbor cruise which is supposed to be very romantic. Apparently being Vietnamese caused him to be more uptight about PDA than even me. When you are so conservative you make me look seem Sandy at the end of Grease, you may have a problem. I attempted to hold his hand once in the
movie theatre and he took my hand and put it under his leg and sat on it. I didn’t quite know how to respond so I left
it there for a few minutes while I processed the fact a grown man was sitting
on my hand.
Needless to say,
it wasn’t looking good for us. The final
straw came when he invited me to a potluck at his church. I thought it might be a good idea. Maybe he was getting more used to dating and
would eventually get over his issues with PDA.
In selecting my outfit for the occasion, I decided to go with a more
subdued palate as he attends an Episcopalian church and their clothing choices are more Dame Maggie
Smith than, well, me. He met me at my car and
when I alighted wearing light gray chinos with a pastel plaid button-down, he
said, “Oh thank God you didn’t wear one of your outfits. I was scared of what you’d look like.” I was so offended I could only make it down
the buffet line once, plus a dessert run.
What? It’s free food at a church. You don’t pass that up. You just don’t.
On to #7 - Meet
Mr. Right at Work
