I'm sitting cross-legged on my therapist's couch 4 months after my husband's announcement that he wants a divorce when my therapist informs me that he thinks I should start dating again.
I had told myself and others that I was going to take time off to concentrate on myself for once. Between a husband and three boys, I didn't know who I was anymore. I just wanted to hang out with my girlfriends, drink martinis like a fish, and let the hair grow long on my legs if I wanted. I had even gone so far as to announce to my friends that I was going to take a full year off from any kind of relationship.
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As soon as I said yes to The International Player’s invitation for a date in The Bahamas he flew into action booking my flight and my hotel. What dates would work? Did I care what time the flight left Seattle? Did I have any must-haves in a hotel room?
The first weekend in February. (Yes, people. As always I am dreadfully behind in my blogging.)
A red-eye would probably work best.
No major must-haves. I never plan to spend much time in a hotel room when I’m on vacation, so I just need it to be clean and functional.
The arrangements began. Man #42 looked into flights and sent me a selection from which to choose. I knew my son was playing his last high school basketball game on the Friday I planned to leave, so I had to plan around that. I love watching him play, and I had to be there for his last game. I would get some work done Friday during the day, do any last minute packing, go to my son’s basketball game at 5 p.m., and then have my eldest son drive me directly from the game to the airport.
Then came the questions. “I need your name as it appears on your passport, your passport number, date of birth, phone number and the email address you want to use.”
Uh oh. This suddenly seemed like a lot of personal information to be giving to someone I didn’t really know. I weighed the consequences. My book club recently read Where’d You Go, Bernadette: A Novel where the main character has a remote personal assistant in India. However, the personal assistant turns out to be someone the Feds are after. I had to think about this. That was a lot of information to suddenly relinquish. Plus, Man #42 isn’t even from the U.S. He’s from Singapore. What if he turned out to be part of an elaborate crime syndicate and not just a fan of my blog? (Yes, my blog has an international following.) However, it wasn’t like I was giving him access to any of my financial accounts, and he wasn’t asking for my Social Security number. The most powerful pieces of information he was getting were my passport number and my date of birth. Without my Social Security number they were probably almost worthless. At least that’s how I justified things to myself. So, I typed the information into an email, pressed send, and crossed my fingers that this was really just a man who wanted to go on a date with me in The Bahamas and not some international identity thief or psycho hell-bent on targeting bloggers.
Man #42 booked me on a flight leaving Seattle at 9:50 p.m., transferring at the butt crack of dawn in Atlanta, and arriving in Nassau around noon on Saturday. Hopefully, I’d get some sleep on the plane.
He also sent confirmation that he had booked a room for me at the Nassau Palms Hotel, about a ten minute walk from where he was staying in downtown Nassau. I actually saw this as a good sign, and when I told K2, he agreed that he liked the fact that Man #42 had not booked a room in the same hotel where he was staying. It seemed less shady and more respectful. It felt as though he was making an effort to make me feel as comfortable as possible in coming down there to see him.
It wasn’t until after my flight was booked and my hotel room was reserved that I thought to ask how old he was. In all of our email correspondence it had never come up.
What?! Oh my fucking god.