I’ve been sitting here, the morning after an amazing date, trying to figure out why it hit me so hard. Why it was one for the books.
Because from a distance, to people who don’t know me well, I don’t think they’d understand how excellent the date was if I sat and described it. It was a low-key affair. Really, we ran some important errands together, picked up some takeout (which meant I didn’t have to cook — yay!) and then had dessert and a glass of wine. On a worknight.
But that doesn’t cover it. That doesn’t begin to cover it.
Because at every turn we were telling silly jokes. And not just our regular old jokes (we’ve been together a while now) — but a bunch of new ones that sprang to life spontaneously. Those sorts of things are hard to force. A new private joke happens serendipitously, a strange mix of chaos and timing. Of familiarity and unfamiliarity.
It’s something I like an awful lot about you — we have so many private jokes. And not only do we have a ton built up, we’re continually making more together. When we least expect it.
That said, it’s been an awfully long time since I’ve had an evening that was so novel, so fresh, so perfectly timed. So…. exactly what I needed.
And the weird bit is that I didn’t even know I was on a date. Not really. Until it was perfect. Until I felt valued, loved, and supported to a ridiculous degree.
I didn’t realize it was a date until there was a blazing chemistry that had never gone away but forced its way into a random worknight in a way that was completely undeniable.
I didn’t realize it was a date until I unexpectedly had one of the best nights of my life. I am so here for it.