Yo, not me going almost TWO years without writing to you guys! I wish I could say it’s because I’m living life to the fullest, but let’s not kid ourselves.
Truly, I thought about writing many times, but there was always an “I’ll do it later,” or “I don’t have anything worthwhile to say.” Or… “God forbid I jinx it!”
You may be wondering, jinx what? Well… funny enough, the last time I wrote to you all, I had been chatting with a gentleman dude guy… and that gentleman dude guy now gets to call me Mrs. Zimmer.
Let me back that ass a bit.
November of 2023, I was hanging out with some of my work friends (shoutout to Mutiat, Erica, and Feba, who were all at my wedding seeing this thing through). We talked about how disillusioned I had become with dating in general and online dating in particular. While we were shooting the shit, the girls not-so-gently nudged me to give the apps “one more time. Just one.” In an effort to prove my point (and prove them wrong), I signed up for one right there and then. My matches appeared, most of them the ones who had been there for years (I myself had been on there, on and off, for 12 years). I liked the profiles I liked, and declined the ones I didn’t. I decided to be a bit more open to people who might not catch my eye first but who might have potential.
Honey, if you’re reading this, you were one of those diamond in the brute ones.
I could tell he was cute 10+ years ago (his pictures were that old), and he seemed like an ok guy. So, of course, I didn’t message him.
Until he messaged me quoting the best cold open of one of my favorite shows: Brooklyn 99.
Mind you, he had only ever seen that bit of the show, but that was a smart move.
So what did I do?
Not reply for a month.
Look, I was already cynical about the whole thing, and then to top it off, it was really hard to keep up with several men in the chats, so I decided to give other guys who were more local the opportunity first. Well that didn’t work. It took me going on two dates with a guy named Jonathan and then being ghosted again (by said Jonathan) to give Brooklyn 99 guy a chance…
Oh and his name was also Jonathan.
And despite him having a J name, and despite me having COVID pneumonia at the beginning of 2024, I kept messaging him back, and the messages kept getting longer and longer.
Before you are overwhelmed by elation or romantic ideas, or ovulation hormones, let me just say that the sparks were very much not there. There was no sexual tension, no shameless flirting, not even an ounce of romantic chemistry. It was like two people who just meet and get to know each other because they work together or have the same history class. There was no trepidation, no butterflies, no daydreaming.
And one day, when my lungs stopped burning with pneumonia and I could avoid coughing for more than 2 minutes straight, I asked him to meet me. He was in Austin, and I was in Houston, so we decided that Brenham would be the fair half point (little did I know Brenham had such a powerful significance to him, or that it would be the place where our story would begin—more on that later).
We decided to meet the last Sunday of January for Mass at 11am and lunch afterward. I was a tiny bit late, so he was already waiting for me at the pew were we would sit. I walked into that church and immediately spotted him. He was cute. Fuck.
Before nerves or excitement could take a hold of me, I realized how insanely nervous he was, so whether I like it or not, that gave me the semblance of control I needed to get through the date. We did mass (he gave me a hug for the sign of peace and I realized he was a great hugger), and then told me where we’d meet for lunch (and I got to see him running to his car and it was the funniest shit I had seen that month because I had been cooped up at home for three weeks with Covid and he did run in a very discombobulated fashion).
We sat for lunch. Without being prompted, he ordered a Coke Zero for himself. Like; what? How does this man know? Suspicious…
We both ordered Philly cheesesteaks and talked for a couple of hours. It was pleasant, but nothing close earth-shattering, love-at-first-sight shenanigans I had often dreamed about. Nice enough to give him a second date, though.
Except, ya know, he wouldn’t ask.
(Dear Reader, I would like to point out that Jonathan is face palming his own face right now, as he reads this. He is very aware at how many times he truly screwed the pooch. His mortification is enough of a punishment, please be merciful to him).
So I asked him on our first day. Then I asked him if he wanted to hang out again (he did). We went to the George H. Bush library in College Station, and to lunch, and I got to see the hella tism this man brandished. T’was hardcore.
For all intents and purposes, these were not real dates. More like two acquaintances hanging out. Each of us paid for our own food, there was zero flirting/physical contact, and he had a negative amount of rizz.
Once it was decided that we would go on a third date, I made up my mind to politely show up, eat, have a nice time, and then never see him again. It was just me telling the world, “you see? I tried, but it just isn’t working. It never will work. It’s pointless.”
We went on the third date. Out of the three, it was probably the least interesting one in terms of conversation. He had clearly ran out of things to ask (or was too nervous to think of what to say). We went to the Blue Bell Factory in Brenham (best part of the date—truly beautiful place), then lunch, then to this nursery called Antique Rose Emporium. We spoke less than ever, and it was February so the roses were almost non-existent.
I was ready to call it a day, to pay for my rose bush and never come back to this place (or talk to this man) again.
So imagine my surprise when this man plants a big ole tiny kiss on my lips.
When I wanted to run, when I wanted to shut him out, when I wanted to go scorch earth on everything, God somehow managed to pull me away from the rage, the resentment, the hurt, the cynicism, and—most importantly—God put the right words on Jonathan’s lips to mend and heal what needed to be mended and healed.
It’s been fucking hard. The whole thing. One of the most difficult things I’ve done (and will continue to do). Training a man to put dishes in the sink and pick up after himself is wild (y’all train your kiddos, please). Forgiving and letting go of my pride when I want to wallow in my self-righteousness… that’s hard. But man, if God hasn’t shown up every time to remind me (and us) that this is worth fighting for.
Shoutout also to Jon, of course, for being gracious enough to take it like champ (even when he really didn’t want to).
So here we are, a whole ass married couple, who will continue to bicker and disagree and rage and cackle and make out and love. Love hard.
And yeah, I do get the irony of me being married. Me, the forever spinster, the man hater (I still hate men, except for one). If you’re sitting there being annoyed that I succumbed to the norm of getting married and having a family—worry not, I am more than annoyed at myself. But not annoyed enough to let this man continue on living without me.
But if you’re sitting there thinking, well damn, do you even love this poor lad? Well, yes, reader. He’s got the best green eyes, and the craziest laugh, and vampire teeth and the most tender heart. He is adorable and the smartest person I know, even if that sometimes gets in the way of his emotional intelligence.
It is a calm, sturdy, steady type of love, this one. Hollywood would certainly call it boring and cast us as the secondary couple who are there just to support the main characters in whatever quest they’re embarking.
We are boring. Thank God. I don’t think I could have done another Romeo and Juliet-type of romance that ends in utter destruction. I’ll take boring and ordinary, please.
And to Jonathan, who is probably reading this not knowing what to make of it:
You will always be the Ben to my Leslie.
So there you are, reader. More or less, that has been the highlights of the past almost two years.
New Year’s resolution is, naturally, to write more. Let’s hope I have enough time and desire to do so.
😜
