Man About Town

It is oddly exciting to know he's in town. In my pub. Waiting for ME.

I let Pat know that when I am dressed to go, we'll be leaving. That is to say, "Dressed to go in a perfectly pub-appropriate pair of jeans and top that flatter every inch of me and look like I have not tried too hard, perfectly made up to look naturally gorgeous, hair groomed as if to suggest that I always zip around town with gleaming tresses with each strand casually lying in place, and perfumed in all the right spots with a light, clean, irresistible scent." Like that won't take every minute of the hour I have left.

When I've dropped Pat off at Lars' and thanked him profusely, panicking that I have a secret plan to remove my money from his wallet, I return home, check my look and head to the pub on foot. I have never driven to the pub and won't start now, even if it means more pre-date exertion than is recommended.

And thus the weekend with Craig begins. A pub crawl of sorts interjected with stops back at home and bites to eat. Lots of conversation and catching up. We are still getting to know each other.

We wish a a bogey on Tiger over IPAs at one pub. Root for the nice coach from Butler in the NCAA tourney over cheese steak egg rolls and Guinness at the next. Forgo the liverwurst sandwich in favor of a killer grilled cheese later over pre-season baseball where both our teams lose but the English ale is delightful at our last stop. Craig tells me about his family. I fill him in on the saga of my wacky ex-friend. We walk from place to place arm-in-arm or hand-in-hand. I tell him about my court hearing and child support drama. He fills me in on the latest events in his kids' lives.

We return home earlier than  usual.  We get ready for bed chatting like a couple who's been married for years, but still feeling like there is so much more to know about each other. Such curiosity.  Even as I pull back the sheets I am craving the next date.

The next morning I remind Craig that I'd offered to take him out for breakfast. A new place that seems promising and is only a short distance up the road. Too new to have gotten a fine slick of grease all over the interior yet like most diners do.

We laugh the entire way. Even on a drive barely a mile long I am pushed to roadrageous ranting. Craig starts to sing a song about a Plastic Jesus and a Magnetic Moses.

Breakfast is lovely. A perfectly turned out meal at the counter, side-by-side and chatting over delicious, over-sized cups of coffee. He tells me that he'd like to join me for a concert I've talked about, and a party I mentioned. He'd even like to meet some of my friends at a gig we've got cooking. He seems to be planning to spend a lot of time with me. I can't help smiling.

He asks about what I like to do when I travel. Do I like cruises?

Eeeww, yuck. The last thing I want to do is spend a fortune to be trapped on a crowded boat with other people's children. Send me to jail instead. I prefer to visit a place and immerse myself in the culture. Eat where the locals eat. Shop in the local shops. No guided tours, please. Let me wander and meander and explore on my own, with my own curiosity as my guide.

Craig completely agrees. No interest in tours or cruises. Unleash him on the land and he'll have more fun than anyone.

And his question gets me thinking.

Is this a "get to know you" question in the purest sense, or is there more to it? Is he trying to learn what makes me tick, or is he crossing off an item on his checklist of criteria for a mate? "Not a pain in the ass to travel with. Check."

Or is he simply jonesing to take a trip and looking for someone to come along?

The mysteries that are born out of dating at this age are enormous and complicated. But very intriguing and exciting just the same.   I hope I find out more on the fourth date. Provided there is one.