not dating

i didn't get too far into this round of weird dating before meeting Mr. Wonderful, who set off the full range of timpani, pennywhistles and a complete holiday season of parti-colored lights in my noggin, etc.

interestingly enough (and not in the Chinese-adage sense of the word), we've pretty much bypassed the dating stage altogether, after an inauspicious first dinner date.

we set off from my doorway toward his car, happily heading for a Lebanese restaurant. however, whilst admiring my charming new Rack footgear and engaging in the typical interior mindchatter, i fell, ass over teakettle, down several of my cement front steps.

from my stunned, twisted and unattractive position on the ground--head in the grass, body on the pavement--my open (and still, apparently, functioning) eyeball followed his rangy frame cartwheeling over me, so as not to cause further physical damage (or follow me down).

Mr. W. helped me up to assess the damage: i'd slammed into my shoulder hard, scuffed an elbow and torn the skin from both knees.

i felt like a kid again. a dorky, redfaced klutz of a kid.

we dusted me off and went to the restaurant anyway. the food was fine, although i was distracted by the blood warmly oozing from the knees, gluing them to my pantlegs.

these days, wise Mr. W. keeps an eye on me whenever we traverse from higher to lower ground: stairways, sand dunes, curbs, etc.

anyway, this was more than a month ago, and he still likes me. plus, the incident made me believe he'll forgive me and help dust me off in the future, when i'm sure to do something equally inelegant or ridiculous.

the damned Nordy reject shoes went to the dumpster. but he's a keeper.

(for those who may be curious: no, he's not from the British Isles. a Yank, he is--a very rare Yank, indeed.)

(needless to say, he's a fine musician.)