He Was My Edith Wharton

                      This is a self portrait of Edith though he does kinda look like an Oppenheimer here...

                      This is a self portrait of Edith though he does kinda look like an Oppenheimer here...

Just to be upfront, Edith knows about Lucy and I’ve allowed him to choose his own moniker. Spoiler: it’s not Edith. It’s Oppenheimer. Fucking OPPENHEIMER. I told him: Could you BE any nerdier? So my compromise is to call him E. For Oppenheimer. Are we all on the same page now?

So. I met E. after a completely single summer, being both Ingmar Bergman interior shot and Danny 3.0 forward. His first message combined with an artful and attractive pic was worth a reply, even though it was about my swearing. Because we know how gd annoying I usually find those fuckers. But. His was different:

“I have a hard time imagining your letting loose a string of obscenities. It would be something to see.”

And so we began.

Our online communication encompassed Russian engineers and their vodka habits, favourite names and how we both nickname; by message three, he had asked me out. It was actually very brave of E. since he was a POF virgin ( as I was twice ) and I to pop his cherry which all came out BEFORE we met. He said: “well, at least it’ll be interesting!” It turned out to be that and a fuck load more. Sigh.

It was a dream meet where a few seconds of awkwardness segued into a common cross stitch homily: strangers are just friends who haven’t yet met. That is if the strangers are on a first date and they’ve conquered the crucial hurdle of chemistry and conversation and by friends they mean two people who would be lovers or more. And E. and I fucking killed it.

I don’t even recall what we talked about besides him saying he’s shy – me too! - and telling a really un PC chicken joke which made me laugh so we’re both horrible people – check. In my notes I said E "was v attractive and lively and funny and interactive" #exactly It was effortless, flowing like that chocolate fountain I rhapsodize about in my first date convo post. I was in my own perfect example #someonetakeapicquick

We went for an hour long walk in my hood after pizza and wine, just not wanting to stop being together. Uber copacetic. Then E. asked me for a second date before he even drove me home because no games. When we said good night, WITHOUT a kiss, he told me:

"This was the nicest day I’ve had in a long time."

How fucking sweet is THAT?

However. E. was 10 years younger than me – which I prefer - and only recently separated with a young child which is as red flag as you can get online or IRL, really. I mean, on paper he was a sucker bet; in person, not so much because what would be the fucking story in that?

E. texted me the next day and the day after that and the day after that…in fact, we still text daily and I was texting him as I began this post. What. But. I’m ahead of myself. Let’s just say E. was very clear from day one that he enjoyed my company, thought I was really cool and wanted to keep hanging out. Which was very cool of E.

I, on the other hand, while sincerely enjoying our first encounter, had no idea E. would become anything significant from just that. Great first dates, while certainly not as plentiful as hand towels at a happy endings massage parlour, are still much more common than great second ones. I was naturally reserved. It’s that whole “hope” for the best/ “plan” for the worst emotional lockdown that’s my POF MO #fingerquoteit

However, we ended up meeting for wine before our scheduled lunch – a date before our date which became our pattern - and it was just as epic but even more. We kept adding to our knowledge of each other; our energy together felt so lovely and past lives connected. 

Now, a couple of things to mention: E doesn’t drink. Or should I say, E didn’t USED to drink until he met me, Miss daily fluid schedule of coffee/ water/ wine. In fact, by the end of date two he’d had three glasses of wine in like four months…all with me. Apparently, he was ripe for my corrupting influence.

The other thing is E. is a prodigy. That’s not his word, it’s mine. He went to university at a very young age and his list of accomplishments and abilities is freakishly long and absolutely absurd in its scope. Honestly, you just don’t want to know #itsridonkulous When he began telling me some of his life story at the pizzeria, it was difficult not feel intimidated, to be honest. I’m exceptionally average in most visible ways. Go, me.

But he never said anything in any kind of way that was ever irritating. At. All. E. was simply sharing, not bragging, never bragging. Because character and manners. By date two, I had to choose between either continuing to feel twinges of inferiority because of my own issues or to just let it all go and allow each of us be our true selves which were already so simpatico. So I let it go. It was very easy actually, especially after I asked him to start saying “my friend” instead. Not even kidding here.

Now here’s the thing: what civilian in their right fucking mind would CHOOSE to date a prodigy? I already often feel like an idiot just navigating my circumspect life with skills that may or may not be adequate to the task at hand at any given time #seriously But if you get one, know his things are what have shaped his life but they are not who HE IS. And if who he is matches perfectly with who you are, then you honor your sacred contract period, irrespective of respective IQs.

So. Again, we went for a walk after our wine and he told me how difficult it was for him to find work even with his visa because he’s not from these parts. He said “he may not even be able to stay here.”

My notes the next day say: “Gad. But. No point in worrying about something that may or may not happen and that may or may not even matter to me tomorrow let alone a hundred tomorrows from now.” Oh those words that are fucking made to be eaten...

Then E. walked me to my door but when I invited him up – completely innocently everybody, all right? Don’t even fucking start – he said no thank you. Then he gave me a hug and a kiss like you’d give your maiden aunt and said: “I apologize for my old fashioned manners and politeness.” And I said: “That’s no problem.” Because what was I GONNA say?

I did feel it was so adorably respectful as he continued to make it obvious he wanted to keep seeing me. What could go wrong with NOT sleeping together too soon?

Hahahaha #fuckingforeshadowing

I had no idea we had shaped a physically affectionate yet completely celibate path that would hold true for a dozen dates in three weeks while our emotional attachment set like Super Glue. Because what.

…to be continued…

Have you ever been Edith Whartoned? How did you feel and how did it go? I’m a little bit dying ( of consumption of course ) because could use the perspective and advice. Feel free to share and/ or put yourself in my place and then try to figure out how the fuck you got there like I still do.

Jesus. I can not make this shit up.

xo Lucy