Megan and I differ on a lot of things. Amount of energy in the morning (me: peppy beyond all reason, wanting to sing “Accentuate the Positive” while I put on running shoes; her: sudoku on her Droid while snuggled under the covers). Sleeping positions when another person or stuffed animal is in the bed (me: cuddling; her: not touching). Favorite beverages (me: coffee; her: Diet Coke).
And of course, we differ on our opinions of the dates. Like Michigan (me: he seems nice; her: he has the personality of white bread and looks like an ottoman trying to keep time). In other words, I usually give the guys a break since they’re in a stressful situation, but Megs judges them more-or-less objectively. Put us together and we have a happy medium.
Honestly, Andy (Mr. Michigan) was a good egg. He was a willing participant in both the documentary and in agreeing to go dancing on a first date even though you’d never find him wearing a shirt that said I came to dance. One can’t fault a guy for not having the ability to swing-step. And once I got some alcohol in him at a local bar, he was much more at ease and eager to talk shop, aka dating.
I feel like I should write about how Andy is an agnostic in a city full of, in his words, either “religious or atheist zealots,” neither of which is particularly welcoming to the agnostic community. But what I want to say more is that it completely sucked to be on a date that I really should have been enjoying because the guy was pleasant and I got to dance, which I love, but where my head was somewhere else: yes, in the ex zone.
The date wound down, I went home with Megan and our homestay host, the amazing Amanda, drank wine and talked about relationships past in a nostalgic way even though we didn’t know each other’s stories, mostly just to talk the way girls do.