V Day

I've written about BBQ before. He's the only man I've met in person during my Dating Scheme 2013--the rest are online catches.

Quick recap:
1. We met at a BBQ (hence the name--I called him Wino before, because he's in the industry, but decided that wasn't too flattering)
2. First date: his favorite restaurant in Napa where we had a nice time. No sparks but I'm willing to be surprised, right?
3. Second date: hike and dinner at a country club. Said hike lasted all of 30 minutes; BBQ was huffing and puffing so hard I thought he might have a cardiac event. He claimed several times he would be "so sore" the next day. I was completely incredulous and really had to work at it not to laugh! (Shame on me, but I come from a family of hardier stock where the men are always challenging each other to mock feats of strength and endurance.)
4. Third date: a walk along the river and dinner at a Mexican restaurant. And this is the setting for the tale I want to tell.

In between these dates there were a flurry of emails. The first came on the day I met BBQ--it was a long missive. He was so excited to have met me his hopefulness practically effervesced from the page. (I don't mean to mock him--how wonderful to be so optimistic upon meeting that he's already built up a grand idea of who I am! Wonderful for him--not so much for me.) After the first date, where I told him lightly that I had been engaged last year and was taking things slowing, dating other men, he sent me an email begging me to give the relationship a chance.

Now, I don't think you can (or should) hinge a person's intentions on one word, but through our interactions it became increasingly clear that he was vividly imagining a relationship with me. Whoa boy!

Why didn't I just say, "Hey, we're not on the same page and you can't even hike a semi-hilly terrain for 30 minutes. Adios!"? Because I need to date all sorts of people (I guess)--"my type" keeps turning out to be not my type. I keep feeling like the cruel, careless guy in these interactions. (Why? because I'm simply not in love.) Maybe, I think, if I just hang in there long enough … Maybe if I agree to go on dates with guys I normally wouldn't go out with I'll be surprised. (Spoiler alert: I haven't been surprised. But neither am I jaded. Promise.)

Anyway, one of the email interactions addressed kiddos. BBQ has one wee lad and no interest in any more. "And he doesn't need a mom; he already has one," he said. No problem here. I am 95% sure I don't want kids--that 5% is reserved for the off chance that I meet a guy who sweeps me off my feet and wants kids really badly. (And because he's so great and gives me time to myself and doesn't expect me to be something/someone I'm not, I agree to have kiddos and thus lose my free time but it doesn't matter--not in this pretend scenario.)

So BBQ and I are sitting at a table overlooking the river and I order these perfectly awful fish tacos. I ask him what he's doing for the long weekend. "Oh, probably just hanging around the house. There's a golf game I want to catch." This seems a little strange, but it also seems as though BBQ doesn't have a friend group. Then he continues, "I'm, um, having a procedure tomorrow and will need to lay low." Ah, I say. I know immediately that he's having a vasectomy, and I don't want to talk about it so try other lines of conversation.

Somehow, despite my best efforts, it comes out anyway: "I'm having a vasectomy."

"Good for you," I say, wishing I'd ordered a margarita instead of a beer.

He doesn't leave it at that, though. He describes how he's stocked up on bourbon and made sure he has spare icepacks in the freezer. "And," he says meaningfully (was that a wiggle of the eyebrows?!), "it'll take two month for everything to test, you know, clear." He makes a swishing motion with his hand. Christ.

First of all, I know this. I had a boyfriend with a vasectomy once upon a time. Secondly, though of stalwart medical background, I just don't want to talk about sperm over terrible fish tacos. Most pointedly, his sperm. Not a good sign.

In all seriousness, I realized that this was the kind of conversation that would be welcomed (and necessary) in a relationship-type situation. I wasn't there; evidently he was. The next day, post-surgery, he updated me with his status: "Ice pack and bourbon." And the day after that, he extended that invitation of joining him in his living room on a beautiful Saturday to watch TV: "I'll be on the couch with my ice pack." OMG. I said thank you, no, I was going to San Francisco for the day.

Fast forward to now: we've parted amicably. I think we're on good, friendly terms--I was honest without being cruel. Connections are important to keep in this too-small valley, after all.