Mr. Air

"Your breath really turned me on."

This was the closing statement in the "hey, I had a great time" email after my first post-divorce date. The kiss was brief, there was no heavy breathing, it was simply a "Well, gosh, I haven't kissed anyone in a long time and it looks like he wants to kiss me, what the hell" kiss goodnight next to my car in a downtown parking lot.

Let me rewind a bit - I was married for nearly 12 years before Mr. Air and there wasn't a lot of kissing going on there at the end of it all. I had a couple of random face-to-face contact immediately after the separation, but none were really dates. But this one, he was. Met him on Match.com mere minutes after posting my profile. He seemed adequate, "business owner, 5'11", sandy-blond hair". I went into the date knowing that I was just experimenting with the act of dating - sure it wouldn't be much more than just apps and drinks at this pub.

But, I was nervous. I must have tried on a half dozen shirts until I landed on what has now become my first-date standby - a bright turquoise sweater/shirt that makes my eyes change color. I considered cancelling. I mean really, who was I kidding. My life was busy. I wasn't sure I was ready to date again. But, I sucked it up and drove myself downtown. (First rule of self-inflicted blind dating. Always meet the guy somewhere away from your regular "hood".)

So I arrived. And he was not 5'11" - he was probably 5'8". This was my first experience with the "lets-round up" heighth disclosure. We started with the standard nice to meet you bull-shit that goes into dating. The more you do it the more you start to wonder, did I already tell this guy this story?

We were having a normal enough time. He ordered fish and chips, I ordered a quesadilla. I was thinking, he's not that interesting, but he's laughing when I say things and seems interested - I guess I'm not going to completely suck at dating afer all! And then....he took my feigned interest for a signal to open up and tell me things I don't need to know. This was to become a rather frequent occurence during my dating. And so, he shared the following:

He is the #2 (NUMBER TWO) Air Hockey player in the entire U.S. - he's been on ESPN and everything. I now know, with the help of the plate my guacamole came on, how to hold an air hockey paddle. The key is - use your fingers, keep them loose. And, he knows we just met, but a group of his friends were all getting together to play in a pick-up air hockey tournament later that night....would I like to go?

And obviously, I declined. But I kissed him. And it was fine - I guess. Something about my amber ale and quesadilla breath must have been fantastic.

Air Hockey + Loving my Breath = Creepy....right?

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