11 - Don't Judge

The rest of Sunday I was a fury of emotions. Hot, cold, irritable, happy when I still felt the soreness between my legs. 

I couldn’t concentrate and I found myself rolling around in bed, touching myself, re-enacting the weekend in my mind. 

Chris was so addictive, I wanted to remember every lick, every stroke and every moan. 

I got an email Monday morning from Haven that my check for last week was available for pick up at her office. 

I made a salon appointment since I had a date Monday night. This was a date I accepted early in the morning without fully looking at the guy’s profile. 

I decided that until I better knew what was going on with Chris, I was going to block out any dates I didn’t already have booked. I could always switch myself back to available. 

I was curled up on the couch late Monday morning, half awake. I looked at the profile for my date tonight and immediately regretted it. 

Even though you can’t see a picture of the date, you get a summary of their questionnaire which paints a pretty good picture. 

This was an actual date, just the two of us. He was taking me to an art gallery and to dinner. I didn’t know anything about art. It’s just one night.

Suck it up buttercup and soldier on!

My subconscious was at it again, trying to push me to get out there and make that money. I had to hope that everyone argued with themselves like this, but maybe I was just crazy.

I went to the salon and got my hair put in big waves that fell half-way down my back, make-up a bit heavy with a smokey eye. I found a black long sleeved romper with wide legs that almost made it look like a dress. Since you really couldn’t see my feet I got some ballet flats. 

I got a big statement necklace and a clutch to match. I felt artsy at any rate! 

I hoped I could fake it enough not to sound stupid. I reviewed my email confirmation of the date and saw that I was looking for a guy with a navy blue pinstripe suit with a yellow tie. 

I made my way into the art gallery and saw him from a distance. I immediately cringed when I realized how old he was, easily old enough to be my grandfather! 

Shiiiiiit.

I stopped in front of a photograph on the wall and stared at it, trying to gather myself. Finally the crowd around him dispersed and I approached him. 

“Hi, are you Etienne?” 

“Hmm, I certainly hope so lovey,” he said in a thick French accent, taking my hand and kissing the back of it.

I gave him my best fake smile and hooked his arm and we began to stroll around. 

After a few minutes he led me to a beautiful photograph of a woman cradling her child. They looked so sad, and if their eyes alone could tell their story. 

“Can you tell me about this exhibit, who is the photographer,” I said, lost in my thoughts. 

He laughed softly and it hit me, this is his exhibit, he is the photographer. He moved behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. 

“This woman is Yara, she escaped being raped in her village…” he continued the story of the Syrian woman and before I knew it tears were streaming down my face, likely making a mess out of my make-up. I felt foolish for judging him the way I did, he was telling stories of the voiceless, trying to bring global attention to their suffering. 

Before I knew it, hours flew by with Etienne taking me around the gallery, introducing me to several people. I couldn’t stop thinking about Yara, she looked my age. I could be her, how we were different? 

Just happened to be born within different geographical lines really. She would never have the chances, the opportunities I was so easily given. 

Etienne took me to a dive Indian restaurant, much to my surprise. By the end of the night I was completely hooked on his every word. The things this man had seen, his stories just moved me so much. 

His lover of over 25 years passed away last year suddenly while visiting her mother in Sri Lanka. He didn’t get to say good-bye to her and it almost broke him. 

He was still so hopeful and full of life, saying that she wouldn’t have wanted him to mope. "Life is for the living, an the dead don't know the difference," he had said.

So, once he moved on from mourning he started dating hot younger women, hoping to feel youthful again, but found them all dull and annoying. 

When he heard about Haven he was excited to be able to sort of pre-screen his dates and get someone who could actually hold a conversation. 

I had only known Etienne for one evening, but I took away so much from him. I was really overthinking so much of my life, especially this dating hustle. 

Life is so short and people are often times such judgmental assholes … myself included! I decided not to mope about Chris, I guessed if it happened, it happened, right? 

I couldn’t force him, not to mention I was so new in his life, he had a lot to juggle. He told me up front he was married to his career, so I can’t fault him for treating me that way. 

I was still annoyed about the angry phone call he had in the bathroom though, anxious to know who he was so upset with and if it was an ex. 

With Martin, what you saw what was you got … but with Chris I suspected there were a lot of layers, much like Etienne. 

My Tuesday night date was a guy named Eric, who wanted to take me to a basketball game. Ugh! I told myself to be open-minded and maybe he would surprise me. 

It turned out Eric was newly divorced … his wife left him for their daughter’s female soccer coach. 

His company had floor seats at Wizards' games and he wanted a hot date to show off to his co-workers. We were an hour in and we were sitting close, he had his arm around me. I was nursing my second beer. I tried to be very attentive and chatty with everyone, seeing as I didn’t follow the game whatsoever. 

“Not a basketball fan huh,” said Eric, in my ear. Eric was definitely not my type, dad bod was in full affect, he was balding and he was trying to be trendy by growing out a beard that he had no business having. 

“I never really got into it, despite being raised by a single father,” I said, laughing.

He perked up and immediately started interrogating me about that topic. He and his wife were sharing custody of their 14 year old daughter. He hadn’t been around a lot for most of her life since he was the sole-breadwinner. 

We ended up leaving the game early and Eric took me to a quiet Mexican restaurant where he continued to pick my brain. I loved the conversation, it warmed my heart how badly he wanted to get to know his daughter more and he was completely clueless about how to do it. 

We stalked her social media together and we made a list of movies and music she was into, even booked Taylor Swift tickets for her and two friends. I loved it! 

I told him that what meant the most to me was just the quality time, my dad just being there. The more he was there, the more I confided in him, the more I trusted him. 

He was desperate for that same relationship and I really hoped I was steering him in the right direction.