in other news...

I’m kinda, sorta, maybe, not-too-sure, perhaps, possibly seeing someone.

We met in December 2006 – which was still the “good” year technically, so I’m a little relieved about that bit. But we are “getting into something” in the New Year – which is scaring the beejeesus out of me – cause of my super superstitious odd-numbered-bad-year-luck thing.

I have met everyone that is possibly close to him from his parents to his dogs to his building’s watchman and he has met no one of mine. This is fine by me, because the whole “meeting the parents” bit freaks me out a little.

Now, I have been single and mingling, with no good results, for the better part of two and a half years. And suddenly, bam, I find myself in a relationship quandary.

We call each other, he cares about where I am, we go out and his arm is around me, His hand reaches for mine in a crowded club, I’m the one he calls before he goes to bed, I’m the one he messages in the morning and I’m the one who gets to sit in the front seat of his car.

This is all new. It’s all good, but it’s all new. And I am baffled. As if I did not think enough. My mind is now on overdrive. I’m constantly preparing myself for inevitable disaster.

The day before yesterday was supposed to be the day he’d walk up to me and say whatever this is, it’s over. Yesterday was the day he was supposed to call me and tell me that he’s met someone, or that his ex is back in the picture. Today was the day he just gives me the cold shoulder and doesn’t return my calls and text messages.

Last weekend was our first out of town trip. It was not exactly a romantic get away or anything. We went with some thirty-five people to his friend’s dad’s farm. Some fifteen friends were there with twenty parents.

He was introduced to some elderly man as himself; I was introduced to the elderly man as his better half. My feminist instinct was under check, or else I would have demanded an apology. In fact, my 50’s, apron-wearing, home-maker, house wifey side, absolutely loved it.

As usual, the pessimist in me is waiting for the bubble to burst, constantly thinking that it’s never going to work, before it has even begun. And I think, assuming that each day is going to be the end is making me miss out on a lot of good things.

That, and the intense jealousy I am feeling toward some of his annoying, ditsy, Paris Hilton-esque female friends, who probably eat a single pea for every meal and think the weighing scale goes only to about 40kgs. Bloody damned stick figures.

On the 31st night he took me out to this club and we celebrated the New Year together. Before he dropped me home we discussed “us”. I asked if it was a fling, he said no. I asked if we were seeing each other, he said yes. I asked if we were exclusive, he said as exclusive as I wanted us to be. He told me if there was anyone else, I’d be the first to know.
(Insert romantic ‘sigh’ here)

If this is just another one of the big man upstairs’ sick jokes, I swear, somebody’s gonna get hurt real bad.

And it better not be me.