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  And now we continue with our next installment of Formerly Fun's BlogOpera.
When we last left off, the barista had made beach plans with our heroine. In two hours. He left to get ready and well, she buzzed through her "prettying" routine as fast as she could ... - F. Lawrence Caslin
BlogOpera (pt 8) I still had an hour before he'd be back. I tried to relax but I couldn't sit still. I was still in reeling from last night.
It was spontaneous, unexpected, I didn't even have time to worry or over-think things. But today, the first inklings of expectation were building--this was a date. Would it go well? Would there be more? What about the fact that we had already been intimate, so soon … where did that fit in?
Was he dating other people? Was I, if the opportunity presented itself? Was he the sort of person I could see myself with for more than an evening of fun and a day of sun? I cautioned myself not get ahead of things, to just enjoy that I had romantic plans for a Saturday afternoon and be content to see how it all unfolded.
I worried like this for almost a half an hour. Then I finished getting ready and did a final check before he got back, brushing my teeth another time. I had my bikini on with a sundress over it and sandals. My hair was extra shiny, thank you deep conditioner, and I had only a little makeup on, perfect for the beach. I had my bag, sunscreen and sunglasses. It was going to be fine, I was going to have fun. The words worked to calm me down.
Ten thirty came and went and a small sense of dread began to creep in. I am a strictly punctual person; in fact, typically I am early and will run an errand or make a phone call until the agreed upon event time. Maybe it's the Midwestern in me or the anal-retentive demand to do exactly what I say I will. This being the case, I have never, in my almost ten years in Southern California gotten used to the loose definitions of on-time or the casualness with which people here come and go.
It probably has a lot to do with the potential huge delays caused by traffic congestion and how this has just conditioned people here to view time as more relative to other things. To me ten minutes seems like running a bit late. Fifteen minutes would, etiquette speaking, require a phone call. Twenty minutes equals bad planning and over twenty and I'm sure to begin to panic.
It was only ten-forty-five but I realized after last night, I was unsure as to where this was headed. Did he change his mind? Did the haze of the morning-after wear off, leaving him regretting last night and today's hasty invitation?
I needed to stop this, I thought. This was insecurity rearing its ugly head, nothing more. I reassured myself. He's planned a nice afternoon, he wanted to see me right away, he stayed for breakfast, he was the one that suggested plans. I reminded myself of all these things trying to inject a bit of confidence.
It was then that I heard a knock at my door.
(to be continued ...) |
Formerly Fun
