I wasn't quite sure which history book she was referencing, or if she forgot how we sat through an entire summer of Alex Haley's Roots, but okay, obviously she was coming from more of a Rhett Butler retrospective. And she wasn't entirely wrong.
Each time I gently chastised Kentucky for overstepping the borders of good manners, he would apologize without delay, charmingly contrite and restore the exchange to more innocuous topics like the weather, ball games or work. He was consistent, present and greeted me at some point of each day with a very caring "How was your day so far?" email.
Little did I know it was all very Spider to the Fly..
However juvenile it may be, actual "dates" are now in fact a little retro, considered "quaint" but unnecessary..sort of like tea cozies, or actually using your mobile to call the opposite sex and heaven forbid, TALK. That would just make the world fall apart now wouldn't it?
Technology has inadvertently, through text speak, set us back to paleolithic brevity. Weaving his delicate web, Kentucky suggests we move all conversations to text, something I vetoed citing it as distracting to the writerly demands of my job. Nice try though. I was under the impression "hanging out" would happen in a well-lit, public space and joke that anywhere without a circus big top would do for midgets like me.
I know it sometimes feels as if the male mind works in mysterious ways. But it really doesn't. The words "Big" and "Top" are apparently quite enough to project lurid scenes in even one supposedly so courteous. Kentucky's crabby pincer flies out as he oozes the question, "So..aside from the circus, tell me..do you like big tops?". Wow, that's original. I reply with something practical, a place, a time. Under lights where people can hear me scream, I joke.
Of course, a few wistful moments occur as I think of the Serbian Magic Plumber and his olde world courtliness. And even more deeply of sweet yet indecisive B and last year's summer, a thought I immediately push away. That was then and this is now. Surely, succumbing to Kentucky's ministrations, while so perfunctorily arranged would be less complicated and less..well, hurtful. I am caught in reverie as Kentucky sends the next email.
"I want you to know I want this to happen tonight, as in right now." he aggresses. "But having said all that, I'll probably be very passive for the first time." A suspicion begins to build in my mind as I find his wit sitting a bit atypical next to his wiles. Something is a touch off. The Golden Venus proclaimed she had a very blaah feeling over Kentucky, "I'm telling you this will be waaay too vanilla for you, yick."
Vanilla? Maybe Virginlandia needed Vanilla. Sort of like how UN Peacekeeping forces hand over a country to a new regime. You know, reassemble the populace, put the basics in. Tall, cool Kentucky, with corn colored hair & blue eyes looked like he'd be at home in a Got Milk commercial. However Vanilla he may be, I'd at least be assured good conversation and the tete a tete could be viewed with some delicious anticipation, right?
My souffle deflates just as rapidly as he tells me that meeting at 7pm any night would be perfect as he usually has a game or a work out at 9. All I can think of is that I've cooked things that took longer than that. Did I misunderstand him?
No wonder the Confederacy lost the South. Too much comfort, too little attack.