Be My Valentine, But make sure you wash your hands first.

Let's face it - if you're not in love Valentine's Day can be a pretty dreadful holiday. And a month ago, I thought I was going to be one of the Valentine's Day haters. I was not looking forward to this day AT ALL.

But a lot has changed in a few short weeks - and even though I'm really not much into the commercialism of conventional American holidays, the Doctor and I had planned to spend the day together in pink-hearted, candy-coated, goofy-smiling bliss.

Well, our own version anyway, and there were a couple of snags....

Valentines day this year fell on a Saturday, and the Friday night before I had planned to go to a concert at the House of Blues with a girlfriend, her husband and some other mutual friends. She had asked me weeks in advance and the tickets were already bought. The doctor was invited, but he declined. He didn't feel like going out after a pretty busy work week, but said I should go anyway. We decided I would meet him at his house later - sometime in the wee hours of the morning, then we would spend Saturday together.

So slightly tipsy after a few too many drinks (not too tipsy to drive in relative safety, but certainly over the legal limit and with somewhat of an impaired judgment ... I know I know .. please don't lecture) I drove my friends home, then stopped at the 24 hour Giant Eagle to buy little bags of Valentines Candy for the Doctor's two girls, and then headed to his apartment. By this time it was about 2:30 in the morning, he had left the door unlocked for me and was already in bed.

I wasn't sure if he was sleeping, so I crept in quietly, and the little shiny red bags filled with tissue paper and candy on the kitchen table.

From the kitchen table I could see the outline of his body under the covers. He didn't say anything, or move - so I assumed he must be sleeping. I had planned to climb into bed with him, and nuzzle him awake gently, perhaps giving him a reason not to go back to sleep. I balanced precariously, one hand on the table, equilibrium slightly impaired, and slipped off my boots. I slid out of my jeans and sweater and when I had undressed down to a baby doll t-shirt and black lace panties I padded across the carpet to the bedroom pausing a moment to look in on my sleeping man, before I slipped into the bathroom to relieve the beer induced overfilling of my now throbbing bladder.

I peed. Quietly. Now don't ask me why, but sometimes in the middle of the night I don't flush the toilet. Especially when there is someone sleeping right next door who you don't want to wake up. Or someone whom you would like to wake up, but who you would rather wake up to the feeling of your skin next to his, or the alluring and irresistible scent of your pheromones and sweat mingled with perfume, not to the sound of a flushing toilet. So I didn't flush. It was just a little pee, after all.

I switched off the light, opened the bathroom door, and crept into the bedroom. Tiptoeing around the bed I climbed in and slid under the covers. I snuggled up behind him. reaching my arm around his waist I pulled him in close to me kissing the back of his neck. I was in sort of a dizzy, drowsy, alcohol induced stupor. He lay quietly and then in a rather matter-of-fact way he spoke.

"You didn't flush the toilet. Or wash your hands."

I stopped. I was not sure what to do. He had been awake the whole time. And yes, I did not wash my hands. I also didn't pee on them. And who cares anyway if I did have microscopic amounts of urine on them anyway, it's not like he hadn't happily planted his face where I peed on a number of occasions without asking me to wash with soap and water first, and if I had my way he was going to do it again in a matter of moments. Why did he suddenly care if I washed my hands NOW?

Now here is where new relationships differ from long established ones. I am pretty certain if my former husband had ever said something like that to me I would have set him straight about what a buzzkill that remark was, starting with the words "so the fuck what?" and if we had ever had any sort of sexual chemistry I might have reached over, taken his hand, placed it between my legs and said

"Now we're even. Shall we wash our hands together when we're finished here?" Which in retrospect is exactly what I should have said to the doctor.

But in my slightly drunken state, and seeing as I hadn't quite become that comfortable or that bold with him, I was caught off guard and became slightly embarrassed. I had come to bed attempting to be seductive and desirable and, if I understood correctly was now being shunned for my poor hygiene practices. This was not how I had planned this to go. So I simply got up, walked across the hall, flushed the toilet and washed my hands, and came back to bed.

Returned to the sanctum of the covers, I attempted to re-awaken my inner seductress - but the drowsiness was taking over and the sexual image of myself now loomed less large and pressing after this whole hand-washing business. I was going to need some positive reinforcement in the form clear signs of my desirableness, or I was going to give up and fall asleep.

I offered up some gentle kisses, some soft caresses, some nudging and nuzzling in what I hoped was the right direction. He lay motionless staring at me. I had no idea what that meant, and I was beginning to be too tired to care. I closed my eyes to think about what to do next and that's the last thing I remember.

The next morning, the inner-seductress was re-invigorated and after brushing my teeth, peeing, flushing and washing my hands (I learned my lesson), I managed to finish what we started.

Later the doctor told me he was disappointed -- that it had been his ultimate fantasy that I would take him by force because I absolutely could not wait one minute longer. I was flattered - and yet slightly annoyed, pointing out that if one's goal is sexual disinhibition, perhaps it's best not to interrupt the process with hygiene instructions that would have been utterly futile should we have gotten it on in the manner he had envisioned. And furthermore, one good "you've got the right idea" kiss would have set us both on the proper path, and I cannot read his mind after all. ugggg. MEN. I was however grateful for this morsel of information which I have now filed away in my brain for future use.

It had begun snowing during the night, and since the doctor hates snow and cold, my idea of spending the morning taking a hike through the arboretum was losing steam. Besides which, I still hadn't managed to finish his Valentines Day present - a somewhat sappy love song CD with songs that I had been picking out over the last week or so. The problem was my spindle of blank CD's was in a box of office supplies that managed to find their way to x-husband's house instead of mine. All week I had neglected to stop an buy some new ones, or drop by the x's and pick them up. I had to figure out a way to get this done.

We made a plan that I would drive home, shower and change, and (secretly) stop at the drug store, buy aforementioned lank CD's, burn said CD and have ready and waiting as if I had been prepared for this day for weeks. Less secretly, he admitted that he had not had time to stop and buy my present either. He would do his shopping and meet me at my place. Now, when you are in a hurry, nothing happens easily. I drove to the drugstore. Could not find the CD's. Found CD's, Waited in long line. Tried to leave parking lot and got stuck behind a 15 minute (I kid you not) funeral procession that prevented me from making the appropriate left hand turn onto the highway. Got home, burned CD, wrote on the cover, and was just about to get in the shower when the doctor arrived.

"what? you haven't even gotten in the shower yet? What have you been doing this whole time?"

"uhhh..." I really, really did not want to tell the whole story.

"If I would have known I wouldn't have rushed around so much. I got to the store, there was this long line, and some woman who wanted to use a coupon or get money back or something and there was just one cashier, and I was thinking the whole time that you were here waiting for me impatiently."

I couldn't help but laugh and thankfully so did he. I told him the CD story.

"I can't believe I finally met someone who procrastinates more than me. Hurry up."

His gift by the way was a set of red wine glasses. On what was maybe our third date I think, he came over and we made dinner together. We had some wine, and afterward when he was helping clean up he attempted to dry one of my wine glasses and squeezed a little too hard. I told him I didn't care - and it was true. Stuff breaks when you use it. Wine glasses can be replaced. No big deal. Butthe gesture was rather sweet. I gave him my CD, and we both agreed that maybe pink-hearted, candy-coated, goofy-smiling bliss was best left to everyone else.

Making it Official

It's funny how when something new comes along how easy it is to let go. I finally went to see a lawyer to draw up the papers for the divorce.

Divorce was something I had been putting off for months. Even though I had moved out, even though I had started and ended another relationship -- and ended it - with Berlin. Even though I knew I was happier on my own, and I was rebuilding my life and my independence, I just couldn't quite manage to make it official.

I had been thinking about selling my engagement ring. In November, I sent the paperwork to the jeweler where we bought it from to see what kind of offer I could get. I got a decent response - but then I panicked. I would take that ring out of its satin box and hold it in my hand. Feel the weight of it in my palm, cool metal against my skin. I would turn it over between my fingers and look at the detail of the engraving and tears would well up in my eyes. There was so much promise in that ring. So much hope for a future different from my present reality. So much lost.

I even put it on a few times, holding my hand out in front of me, remembering the first time I wore it, showing it off to my friends in the silly girlish ritual of engagement goofiness. I remembered how, when I was out alone, men would give me flirtatious looks until I casually lifted my left hand into view so they could see that I was already spoken for.

It's hard to say exactly why I couldn't fully walk away- but I guess I was just scared. Scared that I was making a mistake -- that I was deluding myself into thinking there was something better out there for me. Maybe this was it. This was all I was going to get. Maybe we all just have to do the best we can wit the cards we're dealt.

In my heart I never truly believed that. I always kept one eye on my source of secret inner strength - my belief that there was love and happiness out there for me that could be completely fulfilling, someone that could fill me to overflowing and surpass my expectations. But the seeds of self-doubt can creep in at the most unexpected moments, making me waver in my resolve to forge ahead into the great unknown for the ultimate prize. I suppose none of us is perfect.

So I held onto that ring. And I held onto my marriage. If for no other reason than I was too weak to stand alone and face the possibility of a lifetime of me against the world. I wanted to hold someone's hand and face it together. I didn't want to do it all alone. I couldn't. Not yet.

But love changes everything. Someone is holding my hand and telling me its OK to let go. Telling me they'll face the world with me, and it's time to put the past behind me. And suddenly I wasn't scared anymore. I wasn't afraid to say goodbye to the ring, or the dreams it had once represented. So I called the jeweler back. then I called the lawyer and made an appointment. Then I called my husband and told him.

I can't say that he was happy about it, but all in all he took it pretty well. There were only a few pretty harmless rounds of him blaming me for our current financial disaster, and then accusing me of running off when the going got tough. Of course he was lashing out as a result of his own grief. I reminded myself that I had spent a lot of time thinking about this, getting used to the idea. And that I now had someone to hold my hand -- but he didn't. It was going to be harder for him. I was going to have to be the stronger one.

He agreed to all the terms - which is to say he keeps his stuff, I keep mine - and we part as friends. I told him I planned to sell the ring in order to pay the lawyer and that I would cover all the expenses. He wanted to know whether I would try to take the dogs from him and I almost couldn't believe my ears. I love those dogs like children, but I know he loves them too - and as much as it kills me, I know that he is better equipped to care for them at the moment than I am. Of course I would let him keep the dogs.

And there it was. A ring, a lawyer, an agreement, a handshake and new life. I have never felt so free.

2+2 = 4

It's probably been 26 years since I was giddy about going to Chuck E Cheese. I went last night with the doctor and his two little girls, and I have to say, I was excited about it all day. Probably not the same sort of excitement I felt when I was eight. Back then it was the pizza and the candy and the games that made me drool with anticipation. This time it was the love of one particular dad that was making me weak in the knees and ready to subject myself to the scrutiny of a 7 and a 4 year old.

I changed my clothes at least three times, which is completely stupid, given the chances they were even going to even remember much less care what I was wearing. Turtleneck? Too stuffy looking. Work clothes? Too professional. Short skirt – wrong target audience (the doctor yes, girls no). Khaki pants and layered t-shirts was the final verdict, with my cute black flats that I haven't gotten to wear in months because of the obnoxious Midwestern snow drifts and arctic temperatures that make anything except for knee-high waterproof snow boots impossible to consider. Hurray for global warming!

Internal kid-friendly dialogs were running through my head. What were we going to talk about? School? Friends? Their favorite doll? I am ill-equipped to have those conversations. I don't know what kids think about. I've never cared what any of them think, much less what they think about me. Children are unfamiliar territory. Normally I just treat kids like adults and they seem to like that. I don't do baby talk or parental condescension. I always hated those people when I was a kid. I remember at around age 10 how my friend's mom used to always talk to us like we were 3 when I was at least 10 and well beyond the cutesy-baby talk. It was infuriating, and it made me want to be grown-up obnoxious. I distinctly remember informing her one day that her house stunk and so did she because she smoked too much. She told me I was rather rude - which was true – but it did kill the baby talk for a while.

When I got to the doctor's apartment I took a deep breath before calling him to say I had arrived. He let me in and two little red-headed faces smiled shyly from the kitchen table where they were coloring or doing school work or something like it. I introduced myself rather awkwardly. Fortunately the doctor was cheery and knew how to better engage them than I did. Thank God he didn't let me remain standing there like an awkward, silent idiot for too long. Before long we were putting on pink coats and pink shoes with sparkles that lit up when they walked. I told them their shoes were cool, and I meant it. I never got sparkly, light-up shoes when I was a kid (I do distinctly remember begging for jelly shoes, a pair of clogs and a pair of knee-high 70's style brown vinyl boots – all of which I eventually got) , and if I didn't think they would look absolutely ridiculous, I would buy myself a pair now. Can you imagine me out for a run in my sparkle, light-up shoes? I think when I am old I am going to get myself a pair. I am going to be one cool old person. Kids on the other hand will probably think I'm a nutty old lady.

But for now I'm just a normal, boring grown-up in black flats that neither sparkle nor light-up, and I am incredibly paranoid about how to talk to these kids. If they don't think I'm stupid, will he? Will I say something that makes it all-too-obvious that I am not parent (or step-parent) material? Something that plants a seed of reservation about my worthiness as a partner and potential surrogate mum? I keep reminding myself that I normally get along just fine with kids, and that I should just be myself, but I remain wrapped in my wet blanket of silent and awkwardness.

Fortunately these two pink-clad, sparkly fire-crackers don't seem to care that I am not my bubbly self, apparently satisfied by the promise of tokens and rides. The early part of the night was rather quiet in terms of conversation between me and them. But I was being watched. Two little pairs of eyes were watching me at all times. Checking me out. They're nothing if not their father's daughters.

I have to say that Chuck E's has modernized a bit since when I was 8. It's still the same old pizza and candy and goofy kiddie rides – but there are some distinct high-tech additions for today's modern tots. Rides that take your picture, or give you a secret CSI photo ID, and a place to dance to your own kid-friendly music video. That's pretty awesome. I think my favorite was a ride that makes you feel like you're on an actual roller coaster. You recline inside a compartment in front of a screen with the image of a roller coaster track. The video on the screen gives you the perspective of being seated in one of the front cars – and as it climbs and turns and flies down the track the seats shake and move – and the combined sight, sound and motion make for a pretty realistic sensation that you actually ARE on a roller coaster. I was impressed. I went on it once with the older of the two girls, and then – with the "let's do it again" mentality of children – they decided to go on it together. I was standing behind them supervising when their dad came up behind me and, taking advantage of the fact that both pairs of eyes were simultaneously occupied, looked at me in just that "you're wonderful" sort of way, and kissed me. Man. Who needs roller coasters ?

Pass the Ticonderoga #2

I am a sucker for a well-written letter. If there's one thing that separates the men from the boys in the world of online dating, it's an ability to catch my attention and hold it with words. You wouldn't think this would be all that hard- but it is. Just read a few profiles. I guarantee you will come away unimpressed.

This fact has left me rather disappointed and, frankly, depressed. In recent weeks, I had begun to think that I may have to set my standards a little lower. There are some nice guys out there, right? Was it really necessary for me to be a complete intellectual snob? Couldn't there be a wonderful man, a possessor of many amazing traits, sans the prerequisite 800 GRE verbal score?

Perhaps, bu the whole thing makes me sigh in despair. I can't help it. Intellectual stimulation is required for the proper progression of the infatuation process. It's a well established fact that in my world, a few lines of prose will get you farther than an equal number of margaritas. Much farther. Just ask William, or Berlin, whose well-worded wooing won my heart.

Much to my surprise and delight, just when I was about to venture into another substandard round of dating I received this email:

After staring at the screen now for 20 minutes, I have to admit that I am a little self-conscious about how this comes out with you being a writer. I always agonize tremendously about anything I write, and the added pressure of the intended audience is gut wrenching!

I have to say that your profile is the most startling I've ever read, and it made me actually join this site so that I could contact you (I hope that doesn't read "stalker"). I'm a physician, and although my profession and educational background is fairly opposite of what I imagine yours to be, my interests, and attraction to life appears to be very similar. I have always been a voracious reader, and of the last 10 years or so, I have been interested in a great range of things: philosophy, literature, education, and most of all history. I have a sincere interest in medical history especially, and have lectured a little, and written one article.

I have to say that I consider myself an intellectual. If there is one thing that defines me it is my curiosity. A room full of creative and interesting people people talking and laughing and sharing food, wine and conversation not only would be, but has been the perfect evening. Actually, I'd like to meet more people like that if I could. Physicians can be intelligent on a wide range of topics, and most have interests that are far afield of medicine, but they tend to be somewhat narrow in their conversations. Also, they are not very imaginative, and tend to want to solve problems all the time and not consider complexity, which is a favorite topic of mine.

I also really love music of all types. I am in a band with some of my friends who are also doctors. It is one of the only absolute joys I've ever experienced and we have a lot of fun. We play out occasionally, but mostly just for parties of friends, or more likely just for ourselves. I play guitar and sing lead. I also enjoy going to the opera as well. It looks like a great season this year so I'll probably try to get "season tickets".

I guess I should tell you more about myself. I am 6'3 190 lbs, built like a swimmer. I have brown hair and blue eyes, and although I'm not the male model I was in my 20's, a glance in my direction won't turn you to stone. I was married for 8 years, and I have 2 daughters age 6 and 3. Right now I am a shared parent and they live with me around 10 days out of the month full time. I am currently separated, but we have been totally separated for 2 years. The divorce has been slow moving because of the economy mostly, and the fact that the house has no way of selling. We have no interest in reconciling and have both dated. The biggest lesson from that relationship is that we both needed someone different that more represented our values and approach to life. Luckily our girls turned out wonderful and perfect despite our faults.

So I've been babbling for a while, and while this certainly in no way describes my inner workings, it's a fair enough snap shot. I am very new to this whole internet dating thing, so I mostly hope that this email isn't inappropriate in any way. Please read it for what it is, trying to meet someone who sounds like a very interesting person. Whether or not you or I want a relationship, I am pretty sure you are someone I would want to know anyways. Hope to hear back from you.

I can't say that it was any one line that did it - but there was an overall generosity of spirit - a genuine lonely heart in search of a soulmate that came through. It wasn't poetry. But it was honest. It sounded like me. He had used his real name, so I checked out his picture on the website of the hospital where he works. He was cute. So I responded. And after a few emails we set a date to meet. Dinner on a Sunday night at a Vietnamese restaurant that I particularly liked, but he suggested. Off to a good start.

He picked me up at my place and we drove over to the the restaurant together. I liked him pretty much immediately, and there was a distinct lack of the usual first-date discomfort. But he really got my attention when I picked up my chop sticks and he said, "Oh good, you won't embarrass me by using a fork!"

That is exactly something I would have thought - if not said. I have never understand why westerners refuse to learn to eat with chopticks - and I can eat virtually anything with them. I spent a brief period in China and never even touched a fork, just on principle.

I don't remember what we talked about anymore. I asked him frankly about what happened in his marriage, and told him about mine, and the rest was a blur. Before we knew it the place was empty, and the waiter was at our table with an embarrassed smile on his face, politely asking us to wrap things up.

So we did. He drove me home. Slowly. And when he dropped me off we experienced our first awkward moment. I told him I had a nice time - and was wondering if he was going to kiss me goodnight - and also wondering if I should let him - seeing as I recently made a post-Berlin resolution to take things a little slower. In the end we contemplated it just long enough for it to get weird to I just hopped out of the car, waved good night, and sauntered back to my doorstep hoping he was watching me the whole way.

Two Week Anniversary

On the other side of the wall that separates my living room from my bedroom, there is a man asleep in my bed. He's tall, and handsome, and may well be the smartest guy I've ever met. He talks to me about science, and medicine, and history, and art - and he loves music. He loves it the way I love it - he feels it - he feels a lot of things the way I do. Enough that it scares me. But in that good sort of way.

I met him two weeks ago today. In fact this morning he pointed that out, right after he asked me if he was my boyfriend. My dog was feeling a bit jealous of all the attention I was giving this magnificent stranger, and so he ambled across the bed, plopped his chin on my shoulder and started licking an nuzzling my neck with his cold, wet nose.

I laughed a little, wondering if my new found lover found this totally annoying or disgusting. He seems to like them - the dogs that is - but I think its one of those cases where he like them because I do, and probably not quite as much as I do.

"My other boyfriend is getting jealous," I told him.
He smiled. "Am I your boyfriend?" He asked.

I'm rather certain he already knew the answer. But it's one of those questions you ask just because it makes you feel good to hear the answer out loud. And the way he asked it made me blush with a sort of schoolgirl crush happiness.

"yea. I think you are."
I pulled myself in close to his body and buried my face against his chest. He smells like laundry detergent and soap mixed with some sort of crazy pheremones that have just about pushed me beyond the brink of all sensibility. I breathed him in.

He had asked me this the first night we slept together too, which totally caught me off-guard. I wasn't prepared for the committment questions while I was still basking in the glow of our fist post-coital, oxytocin-induced high. "I don't know," I told him at the time. "Do you want to be my boyfriend?" "I don't know," he replied back. But we were both smiling.

He was quiet for a while and when I looked up I caught him staring rather intently. He has these gorgeous blue eyes with flecks of brown. When you get up close the irises have these colored swirls in them that remind me of those abstract looking posters where you have to cross your eyes to see the 3D images in them.

Those eyes are always watching, observing, and feeding his inquiring mind. By his own admission he's always thinking about something. Always arranging the pieces of one puzzle or another in his head. It's a trait he says has driven one two many wedges into past relationships - but I can't help but find it an incredible turn-on.

I knew he was thinking about me. He was thinking about saying something. With some people you can just watch the decision making process going on inside. You don't know what the steps are, or how long it will take them, or even what the final verdict will be - but you can literally see the the wheels turning inside their head. Eventually I couldn't take the suspense any longer.

"What are you thinking about?"
"Oh no. are you going to be one of those girls that always asks the guy what he's thinking?"
"No." I blushed.
"Yes you are," he laughed in a way that said he already knew me better than I thought. And he was right. I AM one of those girls. A more serious look came over his face.

"Are you really interested in all the stuff I tell you?" he asked me.
I paused just a second to study the look on his face. It was a genuine question. He was worried that I was just trying to please him. That I was trying to be something I'm not for his sake - feigning interest in his interests and his stories. I suppose it's understandable. I feel a little bit the same way sometimes. We are so compatible that it's almost becomes hard to believe that its real. You have to wonder if the other person isn't just putting you on.

"Absolutely," I replied.

In my head I'm thinking, "are you kidding?" He sends me new words he learned. Stories about diseases Abraham Lincoln may, or may not have had. Articles about Medicare and health care reform because he knows I'm writing about it. He tells me about LBJ and how the medicare system was born. And this morning we had a discussion about the history of phrenology and how it was used to make a case for criminal minds, and as evidence in a court of law. A man who wants to lie in bed and cuddle after sex is already getting bonus points, but a man who wants to give me a mental orgasm right after a physical one? Are you kidding me? Do it again.

"I love that you tell me things that I don't know. I have always wanted to be with somebody that added something to who I was - that brought something new to the table. You teach me stuff. I love that. I'm definitely going to get smarter if I keep hanging around with you."

"Well I think it's better if it works bilaterally."
"I hope it already does - I hope you are interested in what I have to say and you're learning something too."

He paused.

"You know the other day, when you knew that word that I didn't know?"
"What word? Legerdemain? Slight of hand?"
"Yeah. I almost asked you to marry me."

His face was dead serious. My heart literally skipped a beat. And then, in a sort of panic-stricken, knee-jerk reaction I brushed it off.

"shut up," I said in a playful manner and looked away. I suddenly wasn't sure if that hurt his feelings a little. I didn't know how serious that comment was meant to be. His normal expression is rather deadpan - and sometimes when he's joking it takes me a second to catch on. This was the sort of joke I didn't want to misinterpret. I didn't really think he was serious about marriage - but I also knew that comment meant something. It was his way of saying, in that moment, I was the girl of his dreams.

Maybe he sensed my sudden discomfort, because he let it go and we made small talk for a minute. We both were quiet for a while, until I asked him finally,

"You never told me what you were thinking."
He cleared his throat.
"I was just thinking how nice it is just lying here next to you, and how I think it's something I think I might want to do every day, and how that's a little dangerous."
"Dangerous? You mean because neither of us would ever get any work done?"
"No. Because we've only known each other two weeks. Today is our two week anniversary."
"Happy Anniversary," I giggled. He wrapped me up in his arms, pulled me in close, and we stopped talking.