I get an email back from my wink to Mr I Am Unusual. His message is pleasant, if brief; he makes a light joke indicating he’s actually read my profile (bonus points!), asks about my New Year’s Eve plans, and ends with a breezy,
“The name’s Nic, by the way.”
Right, OK. You spell your name in an unusual way. How … unique. But still, he’s nice looking and has a sense of humor and I’m writing to Bachelor #4 at the same time so I don’t really give either of them too much thought. I’ve got this whole thing figured out, by now – we’ll get together for coffee and I’ll decide fairly quickly.
I notice something about Mr. Unusual that I hadn’t when I sent over my initial wink – he lives in Seattle proper, which is to say, he’s on the other side of the bridge from me, which is somewhat inconvenient for the initial “Let’s have coffee” thing. In the long run, if he’s worth spending time with, he’s worth crossing a bridge for. And if he doesn’t feel the same way, well – he’s not worth spending my time with.
But we’re not at that point yet – we’re trading emails. New Year’s comes and goes, so we share what we did, and each carefully end our emails with a question of some sort – offering the other the chance to respond. It feels a bit disjointed, but then again, the whole match.com thing feels kind of weird, and pressured, and stilted, so I don’t hold it against him and nor do I take it personally.
Mr Unusual’s profile pictures, although nice-looking, are kind of odd and obviously professional – but not the usual professional corporate resume or brochure pictures. In one of them there’s water splashing around him like he’s in a shark tank. In another he’s posed in a suit in front of some Jimi Hendrix thing. Another reminds me of a 1930’s Chesterfield ad.
None of them look like the same person. I inquire about the unique photos – what’s that about?
There is a simple story about my unusual pictures, but in all honesty, it’s hard to explain without sounding like a jerk. I don’t like to toot my own horn, so I might like to explain it in person. If you’re game. Maybe meet for coffee or a drink this week?
Nicely played, I think. Smooth, says my father. Except there’s one small problem – the bridge, which makes getting together for a quick drink kind of … a hassle. But I realize that The Child is scheduled to take her middle school entrance exams on the other side of the bridge – just not “this week.” So I offer up the option of him coming to my side of the bridge one evening (while she’s in rehearsal), or I can meet him for coffee on the 14th – when I happen to be in his neighborhood anyway.
He replies: Great, let’s pencil in the 14th.
Great, I reply, see you then.
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