On our third date he gave me a mix cd. On our fourth date he brought me chocolate and gave me not one, but two (TWO!) back massages. We hung out at my house and listened to music. We went out for sandwiches and then came back. We kissed, we cuddled, we watched Spinal Tap. In other words, it was pretty much the perfect day. It is weird to have found someone this good. My carefully constructed defenses are breaking down bit by bit, but still, it is weird. I am not used to this.
I am used to oafish, selfish, hot and then cold. Guys that are aggressive, or stingy, or pathological liars. I am not used to presents, compliments, and back massages, and honestly, my first instinct is to brush them off, to brush him off. What Groucho Marx said about not wanting to belong to a club that would have him as a member- I get that. Completely. If he likes me this much, clearly there must be something wrong with him. My first instinct is to search out the flaws and magnify them. "Oh, he's a right-leaning independent." "Oh, he misspelled 'you're.'" But these are not reasons, these are excuses. These are my walls, my defense mechanisms. But when these are the worst flaws I have been able to find, then clearly the problem isn't with him.
He's a clown. He makes me laugh. You know how in high school sometimes they have those Mr. (X) High School contests? He was Mr. High School (or as I like to call him, my little pageant winner). In college he was the only white guy on the step team. I thought this was so awesome that I asked him to show me his step moves out on the driveway, and he was kind enough to grudgingly (oh so grudgingly!) comply. In short, he's funny, he's nice, and he's just plain likeable. I am not used to this. But I am getting there.
He still hasn't let up with the questions. I've gotten used to the non-sequiturs, but every once in a while he will still surprise me. The other day he called me a couple hours before he came over. "How do you feel about peanut butter?" he asked.
"Really?" I asked. "You had to call me just to ask me this? I'm trying to get out the door for a job interview, and you want to know my opinion on the topic of peanut butter? I mean, this couldn't have waited? Well, fine, I guess. Yeah, I like peanut butter, is that what you needed to know?"
Two hours later he showed up at my door with chocolates. They were filled with- you guessed it- peanut butter.
I am officially an ass. He, for some reason, doesn't seem to mind. Which makes him, sort of, a little, dare I say perfect? I dare not. But it does make him really, amazingly, overwhelmingly good.
I am so not used to this. But I am getting there.