“So, yeah, that’s it, really. That’s me in a nutshell.” He looks nervous, this man I’m having coffee with. He’s fidgeting and having trouble keeping eye contact. I don’t know if it’s something about me or if it’s something about him. I’m on a date, the first one in nearly three years, and I’m out of practice. I’ve forgotten how prepared I need to be, how ready I need to be to pick up the conversation. He’s a friend of Kira’s, and she’s set us up. “You guys might just work together,” she said to me.
He’s good looking, this man, with a great smile, a rugged build and impressive biceps. (He displays said muscles when he pulls up his sleeve to show me the tattoos on his arms: a Canadian flag, a set of stylized Hawaiian turtles, a ’66 Mustang, just like the one in his garage.) His arms are beautiful: he might be worth a second date just for his body. He’s funny too, and wealthy and adventurous. Really, what’s not to like?
But he’s not for me.
And the most surprising thing about this realization is that I’m not disappointed. I’m relieved. It is so good to know that I haven’t lost my judgement, to know that I can trust my instincts, to know that I’m not going to end up in a relationship unless it’s just right.
I’m also out of practice about saying no. But it’s something I’m going to have to get good at. I’m sure that I’m going to have to say no many times before I get to say yes. So, starting now, I’m going to document my “Thanks, but no thanks” texts.
A is for Adam
Thank you so much for coffee today. I enjoyed your sense of humour and appreciated your honesty. And – I have to say – those are impressive biceps. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re still single. But I don’t think it’s going to work out for us. I’m an island girl, and I need someone who wants to be here, who isn’t trying to escape this place.
I wish you well, Adam.