June 29, 2000

Dude, I'm having Elijah issues.

Last Friday we had lunch. Again. We had lunch again last Friday at the same place we had lunch the Friday before. So, okay, this is now "our place." This is creepy. This is scary. This is me having a "place" with a 47-year-old recently divorced father of two with whom I work. This is nightmare inducing.

Lunch is fun. I always have fun with him. He goes on a rant about the goddamn cows that have descended upon our fair city like so many cloven-footed locusts, and it makes me love him. Not love him, but, y'know, love him.

He tastes my scallion/shrimp pancake concoction (not a euphemism) and somehow manages to drip something goopy on the plastic wrap from his sandwich (swanky place, our place), even though there was nothing goopy on my pancake. Before tasting, he asks if I mind if he uses his hands. I say no, because I have no manners. Now, while this is basically true, it is only basically true, and he takes it a little too much to heart. For, you see, after he drips the aforementioned goopiness on the plastic wrap, he brings his head toward the table, extends his tongue, and, um, licks the goopiness off the plastic wrap for all the world to see, most notably, me. I look at him with abject horror. "You said you had no manners," he says. I am speechless. He has a point, but, man. His tongue in the goop. Not a fit sight for man nor beast.

We are having a fine old time talking about his kids and their little league travails (oh, how I dream of being a soccer stepmom…), and, seeing as it is Friday, I have no problem extending our little romantic rendezvous (read: lunch) past the allotted hour. However, Elijah is an upstanding employee, and thus suggests we go back to the office. Mellow-harsher, he. So we go back, and, of course, for the rest of the afternoon, I am in that gushy schoolgirl mode. That "he talked to me!" mode. That pathetic "for just one day, I am not pathetic!" mode. That mode.

He emails me to thank me for lunch (I paid, because he paid last time, and I didn't want to be beholden to him. Translation: I didn't want him to take the price of scallion/shrimp pancake out in trade, if you know what I mean…) and my "scintillating" company. I email him back to tell him he's welcome for lunch, and if he wasn't such a good goddamn Jew, he could go to a movie that night. With me, even. I am much more scintillating after a movie, I said. I am just joking around. I expect no response, or, at best, a snappy comeback. However, I get neither of those things. Instead, I get, "Don't they show movies on other nights? How about Saturday or Sunday?" Um…um… "Do you have a phone number/home email I could reach you at or is that being too forward?" Um…um…!

Yeah, so, I gave him my phone number. I gave him my email. And, suddenly, it's gotten way too real for me. Like, are we gonna go on a date? A real live date? Ack. I mean, seriously, ack. And today it got even more ack, because, after I pouted and ignored him because he had the audacity to leave at 5:00 yesterday, when I was sitting around, staying late, because he always stays late, and, um, well, sometimes I walk him to the subway (I know, lame) -- anyway, after all that, I had to ask him something work-related. Very much like storming out of a restaurant and then having to go back and get your purse. The effect is somehow lost. So, after I asked him what I needed to ask, he asked me what plans I had for the weekend. I told him none, because it's kinda true. So then…then! Then he lowers his voice and says, "Would you like to go see some fireworks?" "No," I say, like a petulant child that needs to be won over by more than just a paltry lollipop. "Would you like to see a movie?" "No," I say, wavering, my eyes fixed on him with a "don't you dare think I mean no" look. "Well, maybe." "Maybe?" he says. "Maybe," I say. "Okay, well, I'll contact you…"

God, he'll "contact" me. That sounds so formal. That sounds so businesslike. That sounds so "which one of us is the alien in this scenario?"-esque.

But still, it made my heart do a little dance.
Make a little love.
Get down tonight.

Well, no, now I'm just being silly. But, it did do a little jump, my heart. A little flutter.
So, yeah. He'll contact me.
Ack.

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