16 Feb

Last night, I returned home from work with the intention of cooking dinner and going to bed by ten.  I’m taking a hiatus from drinking and have been astonishingly responsible and productive this week.  Funny how that works!  I was literally in my pajamas when “Ryan,” a guy from the website that I had blown off the night before, texted me to meet up.  In his profile pictures, he is in different stages of eating an apple under an apple tree.  I am not generally a fan of people who document themselves eating fruit, but he seemed nice so I yielded to his invitation.  The peculiar thing about this guy is that he has the same name as the guy my sister is dating, they both work in furniture shops, and they both ride motorcycles.  Weird.

We were meeting at a bar a few blocks from my apartment where I had been once before but barely remembered.  Now, it seemed I was the only Sober Sally in the whole place.  As I waited at the bar, I watched some drunk girls flirting with guys and wondered “am I that annoying when I’m intoxicated?”  Rhetorical question.  Ryan arrived and the first thing I noticed was his extreme outdoorsman gloves.  It was forty-five degrees outside and he told me he lived a block from the bar, so the fact that these gloves were joining us was a bit puzzling.  I sneaked a picture while he was ordering a beer and sent it to my sister, who responded with “Uh oh.”  Beyond the gloves, he was wearing a twill driving cap, a fleece jacket, and a sensible sneaker.  He was tallish, with brown hair, blue eyes, and a little bit of terrier face.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was entirely in charge of the conversation.  If I stopped probing him with questions, he would stare at me in silence until I asked him something else.  The only question he asked me was whether or not I smoke pot.  I answered “very rarely” and he seemed pretty disappointed.  We chatted about how I am originally from Wisconsin and he told me his ex-girlfriend was from Milwaukee, but that he had met her at a drum circle in Arizona.  It crossed my mind that he is most likely a huge Phish fan.  When I asked him what he likes to do aside from building furniture, he said his other passions are British candies and turning bowls.  It was loud and he was a mumbler, so I thought he said “training bulls.”  He thought I said “trimming balls.”  Oh dear.  When we finally sorted it all out, he spoke about the primitive art of bowl-making for what felt like an hour.  Apparently he spends a lot of time wondering if the first bowl ever was made from wood or clay.  When I couldn’t find words to offer up an opinion on this hot topic, he went on to conclude that the first bowl was probably just a pit in the ground.

He finished his beer and I told him I was exhausted and needed to go to bed at once.  I tried to give him a hearty handshake goodbye, but his gloves pulled me in for a hug.  I said he should text me and perhaps we could meet up again next week.  He pointed a glove at me and said “No, you text ME.”  Yeah, OK.


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