Mr. Perfect

I called it off for good with the Boyfriend a couple of months ago, and I’ve written a couple of posts about it, but I subscribe to the Thumper rule of blogging: if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.  So, I haven’t posted on here in awhile.

Tonight I have a date.  It’s a set-up, which doesn’t happen very often, so I know almost nothing about him, except that he’s safe, since my friends have vetted him.  (No friends are going to set me up with a serial killer.  Hopefully.)

Most of the dates that I go on are with men that I’ve met online.  With them, I know what they want me to know, from our few online conversations, sometimes from phone conversations, and from their carefully crafted online profiles.

This guy, though, is a perfect stranger.  I’ll meet him in a couple of hours and he’ll become a reality, but for now, he’s perfect.  He is attractive (I’ve seen his Facebook photos).  And other than the few things that my friends told me about him (and I can ignore whatever parts are less than favorable if they dont fit into the fantasy since it's my fantasy, after all) I know very little.  So, I’ve been able to craft my own image of him.  I have a fantasy about who he’ll be and since I'm fantasizing, why not make him, well, perfect?  I almost don’t want to meet him.

Tomorrow, either he’ll be some less than perfect version of reality (they never can be exactly what we dream they’ll be), or he’ll fade into the list of men that I’ve gone out with once that no longer even have names, and are just remembered by their strongest attribute (The Short Guy.  The Stutterer.  The Slurper.  Or, like the last train wreck from a couple of weeks ago, The Spitter.  He spit on me no less than 5 times during our conversation, I lost track.).

I don't really have my hopes up.  But it's been a fun few hours, with it an unknown, it could just workout, you know?

Wish me luck with Mr. Perfect.