Meet My “Mr. Big”…
Last night, I met Mr. Big. I call him that not because he’s anything like the Sex in the City character we’ve all grown to love (as far as I can tell), but because this 6’7 former college athlete can be described in few other words.
Two weeks ago [at an undisclosed location], as a friend and I were chatting about the long awaited arrival of the first signs of Spring and made plans to take full advantage of all that comes with beautiful weather in NYC, I heard a booming voice behind me say, “I get off in an hour. If you wait, I’ll go with you.” Immediately I thought, “Who is this clown interjecting into my conversation?!” As I turned around to face this rude person, it was not a face that I saw…instead I was eye level with rude person’s navel. Huh? As my eyes scanned his body, I thought, “My god.” When they finally landed on his face I thought, “MY GOD!” He was gorgeous…and he knew it. But I’ll be damned if I was gonna let on that I knew it too.
Immediately all the grand plans I had for the day changed, because without my consent the words, “I’ll be asleep in an hour.” slipped past my lips. Asleep? What the hell?! Who says that?! He flashed me a quick grin…“Asleep, huh?” He wasn’t buying it. I was caught. “Yeah, I’m gonna nap and then go out.” Omg…be quiet! You sound ridiculous!
Ignoring my obvious lie, he inquired about the “twang” he heard in my voice. I confirmed his suspicion that I was from the South. “Ah..a Georgia Peach.” Yeah, that response isn’t typical at all. *sarcasm* “Well, you enjoy your day. I’ll see you around.” Damn, I sure hope so. I turned to share my wish with my friend.
Fast forward to this week:
As I’m sitting in my 11am class desperately wishing I wasn’t, my iPhone vibrates. My text message reads: “[Mr. Big] 555-5555. I told you I’d make it happen. He says call him tonight.” My friend had taken the liberty of making me the first client in her budding new matchmaking agency. I was MORTIFIED! Omg! What did she say? Did she make me sound pressed? I’m almost positive she did! She ignored my hysteria and simply replied, “It’s done. If you want to call him, call him. If you don’t, don’t.” Was she kidding? Of course, I was going to call him…but not today.
I decided I’d let him sweat it out for the day. It was my desperate attempt to level the playing field. The next day when I called and he didn’t answer I thought, “Dammit, the playing field is once again all f*cked up!” But almost without thinking, I left a message. A few hours later, he returned my call. Rejection averted. A brief text convo later and we had arranged to have dinner the next day. (I’ll conveniently leave out the part where he offered to meet me at my place and I made the assumption he was trying to come inside & “chill”. He wasn’t. He was offering to pick me up…like a gentleman.)
I’m so freakin’ nervous! I’ve never been nervous before a 1st date. Have I prayed it didn’t go terribly or that dude wasn’t a total lame? Absolutely. But nervous? Never. But I was first day of school nervous. When he called to say he was outside, I frantically picked up my phone, dialed my friend and started rambling, “What do I do? What do I say? What if he’s not as cute as I remember?” Her: “Get off my phone and stop making that man wait!” Click.
Those 3 flights of stairs have never been so long. I was terrified! But as I rounded the corner of my apartment building and saw him standing beside the passenger side door, I let out a sigh of relief. Yep, still drop dead gorgeous. As I approached the car, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. I resisted the urge to deeply inhale his scent. Immediately all nerves were gone.
As we cruised down the Westside Highway headed to my favorite restaurant in Brooklyn–one he picked not knowing that it was my favorite–I was completely stress free. We rolled down the windows and cruised like two carefree teens.
Dinner was perfect. At one point we had to switch sides of the table in order to better accommodate his stature and I beamed as every man and woman in the room watched his massive presence breathe life into the room. But get this…every woman in the room was gorgeous–a fact I pointed out to him. He smiled, never took his eyes off me and said, “I hadn’t noticed.” Someone wake me. I’m DEFINITELY dreaming.
With dinner over and us cruising north on the Westside Highway, I couldn’t help but be a little sad that the date was coming to an end. But if you think I was going to tell him that, YOU’RE INSANE! Not gonna happen.
We pulled up in front of my apartment, he came over, opened my car door and began to walk me to my front door. This has never happened before. I’ve only seen this done in the movies. Seriously. We reach my front door, he kisses me on the cheek and bids me adieu. As I bound the stairs two at a time, I dig through my purse for my phone. I have to call my friend…NOW!
After 10 minutes of chatting away with her about the events of the night, my text message reads: “Thank you.” I respond: “Thank YOU. Can’t wait to do it again.” Without missing a beat he says: “No need to wait. Change and we’ll start date #2. I’ll be there in 10.” THIS. CAN. NOT. BE. LIFE! 10 minutes and one ransacked closet later, I’m back in the car with Mr. Big and headed to the LES for a night of hookah and drinks.
I order my “safe drink”–an amaretto sour. He orders a vodka tonic. As we take long drags of Double Apple hookah, we chat about everything from growing up in the North vs. the South to recent tragedies in the news–passing back and forth a penny I’d pulled from my purse when we wanted to know what the other was thinking (“A penny for your thoughts”). Deep down I’m waiting for him to say something really stupid so I know he’s not perfect. I wait in vain. He is perfect. The hours come and go. We don’t notice. 3am and we are still having the equivalent of the high school phone conversations where you talk all night about everything and nothing, but decide to call it a night. He has work in the morning.
This time up the Westside Highway, I’m not so sad. As he reaches across the middle console and grabs my hand I think, “Even if I never see this man again…tonight I have lived.” We reach my apartment and this time I open my own door–mainly because I’m so eager to feel his hand in mine again. We walk to my door, hand-in-hand, and this time when we reach my front door, he grabs me around the waist and pulls me close. I can’t fight it…I silently inhale. Careful to keep his hands in a “respectable region”, he kisses me. Not on the cheek. Flush on the lips. He palms my head in both his hands & graces me with the coveted forehead kiss (giiiiiiiiirl!). I resist the urge to let my knees buckle and allow all 79 inches of this man to catch me. He steps back, promises to see me on Monday and for the second time tonight, wishes me a good night. This time he doesn’t walk away. He stands and waits for me to enter both sets of glass doors. I don’t look back. I can’t. I’ll melt. Out of his view, I lean against the wall, let out a squeal and then–I’m not sure to who–whispered, “Thank you.”