Let me begin by saying that M.U. is what we women would call a "catch". He's got it all goin' on in the right way--looks, personality, smarts, character...everything. Purrrrrrrr.....!
Then we went to a restaurant called Cuba Cuba. I told myself going in, "Moxie, only have two mojitos--two maximum." Did I listen? Of course not. I went for number three. Yeah, not a good decision when my nerves were jumping and I'd been walking all day generating a thirst. I sucked down number three and then heard him say, "you're slurring your words." Lovely impression, right? He actually cut me off! Ha! As an independent woman, this at first annoyed me, yet at the same time, I really didn't need another mojito when I was trying to converse so...what the hell. Loved the restaurant, had a great time, enjoyed the mojitos (obviously) and the company couldn't have been better.
We went strolling around downtown Denver, enjoyed people watching and generally laughed a lot. Sounds like it's all going perfectly, right?
Being Mr. Nice Guy, M.U. said he'd drive me home and sleep on the sofa so he could drive me back to my car in the morning. Very nice of him--sounds like a good plan--but my house was the extreme definition of disaster.
Before leaving that day, I'd said to myself, "I need to take a day just to get this place back in shape." Too much working and running around has pushed cleaning down my priority list. That plus two teenagers in the house is a recipe for disaster.
And disaster is what happened. On the way up the mountain, I text my daughter to clean up a bit but she's not cooperative and it's a school night so "NO WAY". Here's an image: dishes in the sink, mail on the table, loose tile I'd been meaning to fix in the entry way, laundry piled up EVERYWHERE, dust layering the wine bottles, dust bunnies on the floor, dog hair on the steps---DISASTER. This isn't exactly the way I wanted M.U. to see my house for the first time. So then I'm a nervous wreck trying to clean without him "noticing". Yeah, right. Impossible task.
So I try to distract him by taking him into the backyard for a minute. Well, the dogs start going crazy because THE BEAR IS IN THE YARD. So we're forced back inside the pit.
Making matters worse? Dog pees on the carpet. Yep, the night is topped off by the smell of urine wafting through the air. Lovely.
The next morning the two teens are loud about asking me who the guy on the sofa is downstairs and interrogating me about how I could possibly have gotten the car locked in a parking ramp. He got a good taste of my "real life", in other words.
Then he drives me back to the Botanical Gardens and actually talked about "next time". Really? On top of that, I've actually heard from him since. I'm a little shocked.
So here I go once again stumbling around in the dating world as a 44 year old widowed mom of two, making mistakes, far from perfect, but always interesting. I'm hoping the "next time" goes more smoothly. Cross your fingers for me. (Maybe I should have gone for that fourth mojito!)