Pulling out

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Pulling out

My last date was with a cat trainer, not professional, just as a hobby. When I arrived I saw him through the window and thought, ” oh, he’s cute.” Upon entering the restaurant I noticed a long stem red rose, how thoughtful. It was pretty much downhill from there.
He pulled out my chair for me, also thoughtful, but felt out of place for me. At five foot ten and size 12, I’m anything but delicate and fairly unaccustomed to chivalrous gestures. But I accepted, because I wanted to. Then he tired to help me with my jacket. It was raining that night so I was wearing a rather practical raincoat and I’d velcroed the sleeves tightly around my wrists. This created a situation where I was eventually trapped with both arms over my head and my raincoat over my face. I mumbled from underneath the coat that I should probably take it from there.
Over the course of a lovely dinner I learned about the abusive boyfriend his wife had left him for, the year he spent training cats and all 27 points of a 27 point inspection for big rigs. This was a nice guy, a really nice guy and he really wanted to make a nice impression. He was clearly trying hard to make this work.
At the end of the date, there was an awkward hug and then I smashed my pinky finger between my door and the rear view mirror of the car next to mine. I compulsively suggested that he text me and immediately regretted that. He did, a couple of days later and I politely declined. I felt bad, he was probably just nervous and deserved a second chance, but I’m probably just not ready.
I think it’s time for a little winter break. I’m enjoying catching up on my netflix series and resting. Maybe this spring, and maybe not. I actually feel ok. I’ve got lots of great friends to spend time with and I’ve always enjoyed me time. Even though my cats are embarrassingly boring, I think it’s time to pull out.

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