Kicking the Horse

Even with the fella confirmation, I just don't trust a text DTR. I guess I'm not so with the world of technology and Facebook tagging and camera-phone shots of nipples. A text DTR simply would not do. I felt the need to pick at it like a scab.

I stopped by Christopher's the next afternoon to jump start his car battery. We locked his car and left it running for the next hour and headed inside. Again, I stared hard at him on the other end of the couch.

"You my fella?" I asked. Again.

"I guess," he said. Again.

"Is that all the enthusiasm you can muster?" I teased.

Christopher smiled at me. It reminded me of the very first moment we reconnected this year when we rode the elevator up to his apartment and just grinned at each other like idiots, having not laid eyes on each other for so many years. From my end of the couch, I gave him a huge smile back. I knew where the conversation was going, but my Christopher was not going to go gentle into that good night.

He shrugged. "I don't like labels," he tried. When he saw me open my mouth to protest, he quickly amended himself, "We're dating."

I am a single girl of 28 years old. I know all the bases and I know all the possible definitions of dating lingo. I remember actually going through each term one night at a bar with my German guy friend in college.

"No," I corrected. "Dating is a public annunciation of intent, but it does not encapsulate exclusivity."

Christopher playfully rolled his eyes at my formality. I had just gotten off work and hadn't switched off the vocabulary yet.

"We're seeing each other," he tried again.

I nodded. "Seeing each other is a step up from dating, but exclusivity is not implied."

"I'm a friend... who's a boy."

"Absolutely unacceptable!" I cried.

He was silent for a moment. I zoned out and started paying attention to the story on the news. "Fine, I'm your boyfriend," he conceded. I looked back at him, surprised. That wasn't much of a fight at all.

I cheered in victory and kissed him on the cheek. Christopher, despite acting non-committal, was smiling too. He was playful during the conversation and never actually protested. I think he was just as pleased.

I felt like the fat girl who lost all the weight and all of a sudden got the guy. You know, the guy. Mr. Heartthrob. This should be a huge victory. But I feel surprisingly ordinary.

It's like a birthday. You'll expect you'll feel different once you're X years old and when you get there, it's like any other day. I thought I would feel different having previously emotionally unavailable Christopher as my real, live boyfriend, but I don't. I guess I thought I thought I would feel special. I'm still me with all my problems and flaws. And goals and aspirations.

So we'll see.