Is it time to talk?
I find people’s flaws fascinating. Especially when they are contrary to their non-flaws. -Michael
This idea keeps appearing in my conversations. I’m holding onto it for now until I figure out what it means for me.
--
This idea keeps appearing in my conversations. I’m holding onto it for now until I figure out what it means for me.
--
On Date 5, I think it’s time to stop counting. N had a holiday party that evening, so we didn’t meet until late-ish, and there was no pretense about going out. He showed me an episode of a Netflix show before I gestured to the clock. “I really like this and want to watch the next episode, but how do you feel about bed?”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s about that time.”
I have a toothbrush in his bathroom.
We laid in bed talking, I can’t quite recall what about. I was nestled on his chest, and shifted to give him room to sleep. Other boyfriends have told me that I feel like hot coals burning their skin when I sleep. “You can stay here,” he told me and drew me back in.
The first bed times with someone new are always interesting. I’m usually so excited and nervous to be with them that sleep is slow to come. But I drift off easily with him. It’s hard to recall sleep details, but I know he pulled me back into his arms a number of times throughout the night.
--
He made me pour-over coffee in the morning. We sat on the couch and listened to jazz, slowly waking up.
“How is your Christmas shopping going?” he asked me.
“Really terribly!” I confessed. “Normally this is my strongest season, but I’ve been really self-focused this year. How about you?”
“Pretty well, actually. I have a few gifts for my sisters, not many things left.”
“That’s good.” I said. “I really need to step it up.”
“What’s on your Christmas list this year?” he asked.
“Mostly house stuff. I really need an electric kettle.”
“Oh, an electric kettle is a game-changer. I didn’t really discover them until recently, but it is so nice to have.”
It wasn’t until the next day that I reconsidered the context of his question. I recounted the story to Matthew and Jenny.
“Guys, does this mean… he wants to get me something for Christmas?”
“This means you’re getting a kettle for Christmas,” Matthew decreed.
--
An ad popped up in my newsfeed. “Your smart excuse to wear glasses,” it offered. Exactly what N is looking for! He was embarrassed to admit he thinks he looks good in glasses. I don’t have any qualms admitting I think he would, too. “Less eyestrain. More comfort,” the website promises, offering to filter harmful computer screen light. Maybe a mildly silly excuse, but it’s fully backed with probably-fake science.
I waited on the glasses until there was a break in our communication one long weekend as an excuse to text him.
“I found it.” I texted mysteriously. “I’ll accept your thanks next time I see you.”
“What?! I’m so confused.” He responded.
I sent the link.
“Shit.” I thought, as soon as I pressed send. This would have been a great Christmas present.
--
I see this time as a weird in-between period when we are developing ease with each other, but there is no real definition of the terms of our relationship. It seems like some people are inclined to linger in this honeymoon phase. You’re fairly certain the person enjoys your company-- or at least they keep responding to your texts.
My inclination is to hash it out.
“Isn’t it too early for that conversation?” so many people cautioned me. But the uncertainty is uncomfortable. I want to know. “Don’t do it,” everyone seemed to say.
Are you working up to something, but you give me almost nothing
Keep me helpless up to something on my knees
Would you ever be my, would you be my fucking boyfriend
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s about that time.”
I have a toothbrush in his bathroom.
We laid in bed talking, I can’t quite recall what about. I was nestled on his chest, and shifted to give him room to sleep. Other boyfriends have told me that I feel like hot coals burning their skin when I sleep. “You can stay here,” he told me and drew me back in.
The first bed times with someone new are always interesting. I’m usually so excited and nervous to be with them that sleep is slow to come. But I drift off easily with him. It’s hard to recall sleep details, but I know he pulled me back into his arms a number of times throughout the night.
--
He made me pour-over coffee in the morning. We sat on the couch and listened to jazz, slowly waking up.
“How is your Christmas shopping going?” he asked me.
“Really terribly!” I confessed. “Normally this is my strongest season, but I’ve been really self-focused this year. How about you?”
“Pretty well, actually. I have a few gifts for my sisters, not many things left.”
“That’s good.” I said. “I really need to step it up.”
“What’s on your Christmas list this year?” he asked.
“Mostly house stuff. I really need an electric kettle.”
“Oh, an electric kettle is a game-changer. I didn’t really discover them until recently, but it is so nice to have.”
It wasn’t until the next day that I reconsidered the context of his question. I recounted the story to Matthew and Jenny.
“Guys, does this mean… he wants to get me something for Christmas?”
“This means you’re getting a kettle for Christmas,” Matthew decreed.
--
“Have you seen any negatives in him yet?” April asked me.
“No.” I honestly can’t come up with any.
--
“No.” I honestly can’t come up with any.
--
An ad popped up in my newsfeed. “Your smart excuse to wear glasses,” it offered. Exactly what N is looking for! He was embarrassed to admit he thinks he looks good in glasses. I don’t have any qualms admitting I think he would, too. “Less eyestrain. More comfort,” the website promises, offering to filter harmful computer screen light. Maybe a mildly silly excuse, but it’s fully backed with probably-fake science.
I waited on the glasses until there was a break in our communication one long weekend as an excuse to text him.
“I found it.” I texted mysteriously. “I’ll accept your thanks next time I see you.”
“What?! I’m so confused.” He responded.
I sent the link.
“Shit.” I thought, as soon as I pressed send. This would have been a great Christmas present.
--
I see this time as a weird in-between period when we are developing ease with each other, but there is no real definition of the terms of our relationship. It seems like some people are inclined to linger in this honeymoon phase. You’re fairly certain the person enjoys your company-- or at least they keep responding to your texts.
My inclination is to hash it out.
“Isn’t it too early for that conversation?” so many people cautioned me. But the uncertainty is uncomfortable. I want to know. “Don’t do it,” everyone seemed to say.
“It's important to do what's right for you and feels authentic to you.” Jenny was one dissenting voice. “Ultimately that's who you are and your person needs to be okay with that.” My person needs to be okay addressing big conversations.
--
A few days later we had another night in. TV and drinks before bed. I steeled myself to ask the question, knowing I could shatter the warm little bubble we were living in.
--
A few days later we had another night in. TV and drinks before bed. I steeled myself to ask the question, knowing I could shatter the warm little bubble we were living in.
“Should we… have a conversation sometime? About boundaries and expectations?” I asked.
“Yeah that would be good, I like those conversations,” he said. But then, “Can we do it next time? When I’m not falling asleep?”
“Sure.”
--
Dating Soundtrack:
Fucking Boyfriend, The Bird and the Bee
“Sure.”
--
Dating Soundtrack:
Fucking Boyfriend, The Bird and the Bee
Are you working up to something, but you give me almost nothing
Keep me helpless up to something on my knees
Would you ever be my, would you be my fucking boyfriend
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