Day 16 – the novel

OMG…the joy of the English fry up.  It’s something that almost makes up for the loss of the diners I used to frequent back in the States.  Almost.  The fry up, or Full English breakfast, is not something you want to eat every day if you’d like to remain a normal size or if you aren’t doing massive amounts of heavy labour in your job.  But it’s an amazing treat which is loved by many, including myself.  A fry up consists of several, if not all of the following: eggs (I like mine fried but sometimes I get scrambled), bacon (and usually it’s back bacon and not streaky which I prefer), fried bread (you don’t want to know), mushrooms, baked beans, baked tomato slice, sausage and black pudding (I don’t really eat this as the thought of fried blood makes me feeling like yakking up my guts).  Some places add things like chips (French fries), hash browns or white pudding, as well as a variety of many other odd and unique items.  I was looking forward to this disgustingly greasy bit of yum.

 

We walked into the little corner shop just in time to get a seat for two.  The waitress asked us if we wanted coffee or tea, and I selected coffee (so American of me) while Callum asked for tea (what the Brit!).  What I really enjoyed so far about this budding relationship is that we rarely had any problem finding things to talk about.  Yes, I know, early days, but in other relationships I just found that I didn’t know what more to say at times.  As a counsellor, I was taught to listen, and quite honestly it’s something that comes quite naturally.  It’s actually not a huge wonder that I became a counsellor just because of my listening skills, honed by the non-stop chatter that my friends sent my way.  I actually didn’t learn how to make small talk until after I got to college and wasn’t surrounded by people who were always blah, blah, blah-ing around me.  So when we finished ordering and then sat there and just looked at each other, I actually burst out laughing.  Callum looked at me quizzically.

“I was just thinking about the fact that we’ve done nothing but talk most of the time we’ve been together, other than well, when we were doing other things, and right now I can’t think of a thing to say.  But I also feel like that’s okay as well.”

Callum chuckled a bit and agreed with me.  “Actually, I’m a bit tired and I’m pretty sure my brain has completely shut down.  I think I have lots to say to you but it’s just not accessible at this moment.  Maybe after I have some tea and eat a bite, I’ll be more ‘on’ than right now.”

“Agreed.”

 

Tea was sipped and coffee slurped (it was a bit on the hot side).  And another cup was ordered.  As the food showed up in front of me, I began to feel so much more human.  Despite only getting a few hours of sleep, I was actually feeling a bit jazzed.  I’m sure the evening with Callum had a lot to do with it.

 

“Have I ever told you how much I love an English breakfast?  It’s just such a great thing to have when you’re completely wrung out.  The grease, the salt, the protein and carbs.  Only a pancake breakfast in a deli in the States could compare.”

“Mmmmm…I used to go to one that had the most amazing grilled cheese sandwich.  I could never get them to tell me what they put in it that made it so different.  And the french fries.  So perfectly done.  Americans know how to do bad for you food so well.”

 

After starting the conversation, there was no going back.  We just nattered on for about an hour as we ate our food and drank our beverages.  Cool.

 

We walked back to his flat after breakfast so I could pick up my bags.  I had left my goalie kit at the club and figured I could leave them there until my training session on Monday.  I’d just pick it up after work.  We continued a bit with the small talk, both wondering how this day was going to end.

“So what are you going to do for the rest of this Sunday?” asked Callum.

“I think I’m going to take a nap, do a bit of work, than relax.  And you?”

“Not sure.  Probably watch a bit of footie, order in some Chinese.  That sort of thing.  Do you have a lot of work to do?”

“No, just a bit of laundry, maybe look over a few notes.  Not much.”

“I know it’s a bit early, but knowing that you’re busy tomorrow night and I’m busy the next night, I was wondering if you want to come over for Chinese?  And maybe just go to work from here?”

“Oh.  Um.  Sure.  I’m just going to head home, take a quick nap, shower and then I’ll grab my stuff and come on back.  Six-thirty-ish sound okay?”

“Yeah.  See you then.”

 

I was a bit shocked.  I mean, I liked how he was thinking and all, but never expected such a quick invite to return.  I thought he’d ask me out for the weekend or something like that.  Wow.  He really liked me. Stop.  Wait.  What do you think of him? (Remember those rules?)  And in thinking about it, I realized that I liked him too.  He did make me feel good.  And I enjoyed his company.  We seemed to have plenty in common.  Not bad for early days.  Yeah, this would do.  My flatmate would probably give me utter shit, but I didn’t really care.  And yes, he would be exposed early on to my lovely morning ritual of many hair products, but I figured he could handle it.  I wasn’t so sure about my early mornings though, they tended to be a killer.  I was up around 6:15am so that I could have a good hour to get ready and then get to work before school hours began.  Of course, this time I’d have to actually walk to work, so I might have to leave a touch earlier.  I guess I could rush a bit more.  Plus I wouldn’t have to think about what to wear.  That would seriously shave off ten minutes or so.  And as he didn’t have anything in his fridge, I’d probably have to get breakfast at work, so that too would lower the amount of time I’d need.  Maybe I could, gasp, get up at 6:30 instead!  With my luck, he had the kind of job where he didn’t have to be at work until 10am, and so slept until 9 or so.  Eh.  He’d get used to it.  What choice did he have?

 

Day 15 – the novel

He was the kind of guy who actually puts his hands on either side of your face, looks into your eyes and then kisses you.  After that, there are so many things which could go wrong.  I’ve kissed guys who had what I like to refer to as lizard tongue, with an in-out-in-out movement of their tongue, never stopping, never taking their time.  I’ve had the full on open mouth clashing of teeth kisses.  The slobbery wet kind of kisses.  And my personal favourite (not), the tongue swisher kiss with his tongue going all over the place.  While not as romantic, I prefer the small kiss, where the guy doesn’t really open his mouth or use his tongue.  Or the tongue sucking kiss, which you don’t need an explanation of.  But Callum did none of these.  He used the perfect ratio of tongue, lips, hot breath and sighs.  I still get hot just thinking about it.  And clearly I wasn’t half bad at kissing cause he didn’t stop for a good hour, with a bit of appropriately roaming hands in between.  Yeah, this was exactly what I needed.  Oh, baby.

 

After a while, we slowed down a bit, the passion which had taken over dampening a touch.  Not that I wasn’t still on fire, but I think we both felt a need to see how the other person was doing.  Kissing like that was very self-involved in a lot of ways.  A bit more about taking than giving, but giving nonetheless.  We pulled back and looked at each other.  I already knew that I was fully flushed with the excitement of the session and saw that Callum was in a similar predicament.

“Wow.”

It took me a moment to reply cause I felt like I had lost all my words.

“Yeah.  Wow is a good word for that.  Actually, no ‘wow’ doesn’t even give enough.  I don’t know of a word that would do it. Okay, I’m going to stop now.  I’m just blabbering on and on.”

“You’re cute when you blabber on and on.  I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do.  Less talk, more kissing.”

“I like a girl who is direct.”

And I looked at him with a serious (slightly jokingly harrumphing) look and pointed at my lips.  And so commenced part two of our make-out session.  After about a half hour, Callum grabbed my hand and asked me if I was ready to go to the bedroom.  I’m quite certain my eyes got big and I turned bright red, but I definitely was ready for the next move.  He led me from his box strewn living room into his lovely large master bedroom.  I wasn’t noticing too much about it because we kept just looking shyly at each other and then looking away.  We sat down on the bed and…

Now, I’m willing to kiss and tell, but I won’t talk about anything further than that, because I think it’s just something that is very private.  I’ll just let you know that we didn’t do anything that we weren’t ready to do.  I’ll leave it up to your own imagination (dirty minds the lot of ya!).

 

One of the toughest things for me to do is sleep outside my own bed and if another person is added to that equation, well, it tends to be a sleepless night.  I’m a light sleeper by nature.  A bit too much light or a few random noises and I’m up.  I figure that in terms of evolution, I would have been quite the hit.  I wouldn’t have gotten mauled by lions or other beasties because I would have heard the rustling in the high grasses.  No marauders would have been able to sneak up on a sentry like me.  But in our modern times when you really need to be able to sleep almost anywhere at any time, I was the loser.  As you can imagine, I wasn’t fully looking forward to the night.

 

Callum and I were in the midst of a serious cuddling session (gotta love them) and he then asked me how I liked to sleep.  I figured that he had already expressed to like my own brand of honesty, so I told him that I had trouble sleeping while tangled up in someone’s arms; though I loved the idea of it, it just didn’t work for me.

“Whew.  I can’t do it either.  It’s why I own a super-king sized bed.  I need my space.  I know it’s not so romantic and all, but I’ve been known to throw people off my body while I sleep, so I figure it’s better if I have more bed and less potential for bodily harm.”

This was the first guy who had ever stated this to me.  I’m sure there are plenty of poor guys out there who feel the same way and probably many who had ended up in bed with me thinking that they had to do the all night cuddle thing but hated it as much as I did.  There was a distinct possibility that I might actually get an hour or two of sleep.  Not that this was my focus at all, Callum was, but I figured if we were both going to try to sleep next to each other, we might as well do it right.

“I’ve installed blackout curtains so we don’t have to worry about light and I keep my fan going most nights cause I like having the white noise.”

The man is a god.  Seriously.  I think I might have to marry him just because of this.

I then took a look at the clock and realized that it was already 5am!  Holy cow.  A few hours would be a good idea.

 

Sleep was still a bit fitful despite all the positive aspects that surrounded me. Probably because I was over-tired and this was all new.  But at least I actually slept for the first time with a guy on a first night.  Many firsts.  I liked it.

 

I woke up around 11am to an empty bed.  While normally that would worry me, for some reason it didn’t.  I got up, put on my jeans and top, and wandered into his ensuite bathroom.  Nice room.  It was a good size with both a tub and separate shower.  The sink was resting in a cabinet and had old fashioned looking silver taps.  The tiles were white and black and ran up most of the walls.  On the painted portion, Callum had hung up a clock and a small picture of a seaside scene.  The floors felt oddly warm, so I assumed it had under floor heating.  I took a look into the mirror to find my face and hair not looking too worse for the wear.  All my makeup had worn off though I had a bit of black smudged under my eyes.  My hair was a bit messy, but at least it wasn’t totally in knots, the curse of the curly-haired.  I sprinkled a little bit of water on my face and ran my hands through my hair hoping to tidy it up a bit.  I didn’t think I needed the hair tie which I had brought with me.

 

I turned back into the room and got a chance to actually look around.  His walls were the normal rented flat beige.  He had put a few black and white pictures up, showing scenes of nature.  Nice and kinda Ansel Adams-like.  I wondered if they were something he took or something he had purchased.  His bed definitely did dominate the room, being quite huge.  It was a room I could imagine spending more time in, if I got the chance.

I then decided that I ought to find Callum and let him know I was awake.  I turned off his fan and walked into the living room.  Callum was lounging on the couch in a pair of track pants and a tee-shirt.  He was adorable all crumpled up that way.

“Hi.  Did you sleep okay?  I did better than I thought, though it was still somewhat in and out.”

“Me too.”

“So, you want to go somewhere for breakfast cause I don’t have a thing in my fridge?  I know of a great little place in Queens Park that does a wonderful fry-up.”

A pause

“Though it’d be fine if you have to go home or something too.”

Another pause as I smile at him.

“I’d LOVE to go out to breakfast with you.  Whenever you’re ready.” And I walked over and gave him a quick peck on the lips to let him know that I was really happy about what had happened that night.

 

Day 14 – the novel

“Hey there.” And with a kiss on the cheek, I knew that Callum had finally arrived. He was a bit stinky in that boy sweat sort of way; a manly smell which did have its good points. He dropped off his kit next to my seat and told me he’d join me after showering. I turned back to the game and noticed many eyes pointed in my direction. “What?”…”What?” I figured I’d wait for Callum to come back and HE could deal with all the questions that were sure to come our way. Today was definitely our official coming out of the dating closet. The rest of the evening was a fun one. A bunch of us ordered pizzas from the local place and they found another match to watch. More and more of the players, both male and female, came in and out of the club, stopping by to say ‘hi’ or to stay for a while. Many people had other events to go to, but it was always a great place to meet and start off the evening. Cheap alcohol and crazy friends will always that sort of draw. As the game drew to a close, I knew I was going to have to make a decision. It’s that one that most women are always a bit worried about, particularly if they really like a guy. Should I or should I not go home with my new man? On one side you have the argument that holding off for a while will make the guy want you more and show that you aren’t ‘easy’. Not being particularly religious, I’m not swayed by any moral argument. But I did want this relationship to continue, so I thought about how long to wait. I knew I liked him, was attracted to him and would love to wake up next to him in the morning. Hormones were definitely in the driver’s seat at this moment and it was taking some effort to get my brain engaged. In the past, I had gotten both positive and negative results from both waiting and rushing in. I guess I’d have to go with my heart and hope for the best. Callum asked me if I wanted to go to the Underground bar for another drink. And I told him that I wasn’t really in the mood, but would still like to spend more time with him. Perhaps alone? I was always a decent flirt but trying to be all sexy or alluring was NOT my strong point. I am way to “New England” for that. I think he quite got what I was saying and drew me along to the street. I have to admit that I was pretty much shaking on the way there; so nervous about what was going to happen. But, I also knew that I had prepared for such an event in some ways. The day before I had gone to my new waxer. She had tried to convince me that I needed a brazillian, which was the latest craze on its way. After telling me what it was all about, I said, “No way in hell.” and got a normal bikini wax. I had perfumed, worn matching underwear (thank you Marks & Spencers) and had brought a hair tie just in case. I had even cleaned in the event that we went back to mine (and warned my flatmate what could be taking place this weekend). The plight of women that they had to think about these things ahead of time, while guys just worried (I hoped they did worry a bit) about being showered and having no underwear in the wrong place in their flat. Callum wasn’t into his West Hampstead flat quite yet, which would have been very handy. He was living not too far away in Maida Vale so we walked down to the local cabbies shop and ordered a taxi. It only took a few minutes before we were on the road. Callum looked a bit nervous as well, which actually made me feel better. I hadn’t really ever thought about how nerve wracking this could be for a guy. At least not in the moment. I think women tend to forget that men do have emotions somewhere in there and do stress about things. As we walked up the stairs to his top floor flat, he turned to me and said, “Please know that everything is in boxes so the place looks like a tip. It’s clean, but as I’m moving in two weeks, it’s not so tidy.” As I was a clean but not tidy kinda of person, I let him know that this was not a problem at all. While not being totally low maintenance, I was certainly not a high maintenance kind of gal and didn’t have expectations of perfection ever. I decided that I needed to help out the situation. Being a counsellor does have its advantages, with one being that I’m not afraid to say what I’m thinking or talk about what I’m feeling to people. I knew that just putting what you feel at the moment can sometimes make a situation work better. “Callum, I have to tell you that I’m a bit nervous. Excited, too, but nervous. I’m not sure what your expectations are. Actually, I’m not sure what MY expectations are.” Callum blushed a bit, but pulled himself together and laughed. “You keep coming out with some unexpected stuff Liane. Seriously. Who says those sorts of things? You are so honest and I love it. And yes, I’m excited and nervous too. Let’s just see where this takes us without any expectations. I’m just happy to be spending the night with you in my arms and to wake up beside you in the morning.” Died and gone to heaven. Yup, I was a lucky, lucky girl, to have a guy who would say such things. Now we had to see if there was action behind the words. We went and sat on the couch and Callum turned on the TV. He turned it to a music channel that was playing 80s and early 90s songs and videos. It was the best choice he could have made. In no time, we were talking about memories we had about these songs, from first dances, first kisses as well as total relationship mishaps. There were a few videos that I hadn’t seen in ages and they had us both laughing. Who could forget videos such as “Walk like an Egyptian” by the Bangles or “Beat it” by Michael Jackson? The video, “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak came on. “God, Helena is so totally stunning in this video. I always wanted to look like her.” “Yeah, she’s pretty hot. But I have to tell you that I think you are so much more beautiful. Not only are you attractive, but you are also such a good person from what I’ve seen so far. Plus, I like a woman to have a bit more on her body than Helena.” That was it. I had to kiss him. And what a song to do it too. “No one could save me but you Strange what desire will make foolish people do I never dreamed that I’d love somebody like you” Damn. He’s a good kisser.

 

Day 13 – the novel

It’s always fun watching boys watching sports.  They love to act like they are so cool most of the time, but when it comes time to cheer on their team, they become like little boys again.  A gleam of excitement enters their eyes.  Some lean forward, hands on their legs, ready to yell at the television.  They may use obscenities, cry or even throw a minor temper tantrum.  Things may be thrown.  And it doesn’t matter if they are twelve, twenty or fifty-eight, you’ll see the same response each time.  I guess that since I grew up in a sports supporting family, I came to understand just how this happens, and even appreciate the response.  Many of my friends hated sports watching days (like Saturday, Sunday or even Monday night), because it just had never been the norm for them.  I even enjoy watching sport for a while myself, though perhaps not to the same extent as most males.

 

As the hour progressed, I ended up chatting with a few of the women in the clubhouse.  While some were interested in the rugby match, they still were up for a bit of gossip.  We talked about the games we had played, how we wished the teas served at the club were a bit nicer and about the guys hanging out all around us.  There were a few decently looking men in the room, but no one was quite as cute as Callum.  The conversation then took an interesting turn; what level of hockey should the guy you are dating play?  One of the members of the ladies’ 1st team was dating a guy who played for the men’s 5th team, and this was looked upon as a bit mad.  Why date someone who wasn’t as talented as you?  Would it not hurt the male ego that their partner was superior to them?  How far down the ladder could a woman date?  Or how high ought a man?

 

I was quite lucky as Callum played on the men’s 1st team so I was never going to be higher than him.  According to the girly rules that we were discussing, it was best if you never went more than two levels below.  That meant I could date someone on the men’s 4s, but never the 5s or 6s.  Okay, fair enough.  Hah!  Such constraints had never meant a thing to me.  I had dated men of various colors, guys ten years younger and fifteen years older, as well as people with disabilities and a man or two who were shorter by quite a lot.  Really.  It would never be an issue to me.  What I hoped for was a guy who I could just have as a best friend.

 

One of the things I had talked about with Callum on the phone was the fact that I had been pretty close to engagement during my mid-twenties.  Saul was a guy who I had been set up with at the end of my senior year at college for a big event.  And I thought he was quite cute, interesting and I knew he was smart as he was at my Ivy League school and going to medical school in the autumn.  We ended up dating after that.  In the beginning, it was exciting, as we were dating long distance.  We could talk on the phone, I’d come and visit him once in a while, and there was a kind of romance to it all.  After one year, I found a job working in marketing quite close to him in New Jersey, and we ended up seeing each other a lot more. One year later, I wasn’t sure this was the guy for me.  Yes, he had a lot going for him.  Yes, he seemed to be a good guy.  But there were issues: he was very Catholic and I was Protestant, he wanted me to make all the compromises as he was in medical school and busy, and finally, but worse of all in my mind, he wanted to live in New Jersey near his family for the rest of his life.  He didn’t have the heart of the explorer.  And while I could understand wanting to stay in a big city for life, living in suburban New Jersey was just not my cup of tea.

I stuck it out for another year because he felt that “we were worth the effort”.  And I was afraid of the dating world after college.  How would I meet people?  It finally came to the point that I realized that I didn’t see him as my best friend.  We didn’t share enough.  And quite honestly, I thought that he was potentially cheating on me like his two roommates.  I couldn’t do it.  After going to a friend’s wedding and talking about doing it ourselves after he graduated and found a job, I felt ill.  I knew it had to finish as my fear of the unknown was less than my fear of ending up in an unhappy marriage.

 

I learned a lot from that relationship as well as the many others that I entered along the way.  Firstly, you should question more whether you like the guy than whether or not the guy likes you.  Secondly, does the guy make you feel better about yourself and feel like you are the best thing since sliced bread?  Thirdly, does the guy encourage you to go for your passions?  And finally, can you talk to the guy about anything, and I mean, anything?  These four things are really important and add up to a guy who is your best friend.  Of course, there has to be a lot of attraction.  But attraction is never enough.  And I had plenty of short term relationships to prove that I followed what I preached…if they didn’t fit the criteria then they didn’t date me.  It didn’t always save me from heartache, but it at least kept me honest.

 

Day 12 – the novel

We ended up winning the game.  Hurray!  And so everyone decided to come back to the club to celebrate.  We had teas available for the other team, but they declined to return to our clubhouse, so we were going to get fed too.  Teas at clubs varied from bread, cheese and other small snacks, to jacket potatoes and fillings.  We had beans, sausages and chips (french fries).  The team tucked in and ordered a bunch of beers and soft drinks, then plopped down in front of the television to watch a bit of rugby.  Having played the sport for a short while myself, I could happily understand the game though I didn’t have any ties to the final result.

 

I was planning on sticking around as our game had been a late afternoon one, so brought all my shower stuff with me.  We all decided to head down to the changing room and turn on the sauna, thus sharing in a team ritual that had happened for year.  We showered, wrapped ourselves in towels and with beers in hand braved the hot air.  Gossip was the main topic of conversation and eventually someone brought up my date with Callum.  All the girls clamoured to hear about our night out, after a few saw me at the Tavern.  I gave them the basic rundown of the evening, leaving out the money bit, and told them that the kissing aspect was divine.  Lots of squeals and “awwww” ensued.  I took the ribbing with the attitude it deserved and left the sauna feeling the camaraderie that had built up over the prior month or two.

 

As per usual I wore my favourite outfit: bootleg jeans in dark blue, a fitted red thin cotton sweater, a pair of mid-heeled black stretch boots under the jeans and black dangly earrings.  I didn’t do too much with my hair other than adding a bit of product and allowing the curls to air dry.  I was sparing with my makeup, using only mascara and a bit of tinted moisturizer plus lip balm.  I didn’t go all crazy or try to look like anything other than myself.  This time I didn’t buy a new outfit nor did I go out of my way to look like I put in too much effort.  As I said, I was trying to be calm about this all…and clothing added or subtracted to my madness I think.

 

I walked up the stairs to the clubhouse hoping to see Callum, but he wasn’t there quite yet.  I certainly wasn’t going to call him to see where he was or to ask if anyone had seen him.  God forbid!  A couple of his new guy friends were lounging around and threw a little nod my way.  Obviously we were now known as a couple.  I had seen that nod given to other women before and it always had the same meaning.  Then one of them put me out of my misery.

“Hey Liane, Callum was just looking for you.  I think he had to run to talk to his estate agent about the flat he’s trying to buy.  He said if I saw you to tell you that he’d be back in about an hour.”

Okay, an hour or so, I could handle that.  So I grabbed a beer at the bar and got comfy next to my center midfielder who was cheering on Ireland to beat New Zealand, but really didn’t have any hope.

 

Day 11 – the novel

When I got to university, I was very interested in studying a variety of areas in psychology.  I took the requisite core courses, but then went on to explore.  I tried out developmental psychology, which was fascinating and helped me understand that I really didn’t want to work with little children, as I enjoy the talking through things aspect of psychology.  I did some biological and cognitive psychology, but found that it was a bit too “sciencey” for me.  Then I started looking at motivation.  And THAT was a huge hit.  I ended up finding a mentor who was interested in marketing and advertising as well as women’s issues.  I wrote two long papers, about 30 pages or so for my junior year, and focused on how we influence and motivate people.  I began to explore the world of advertising a lot more and discovered a new love.  In the year following my sophomore one, I had done an internship at a local newspaper in the advertising department.  I found it to be a lot of fun.  I suppose part of it was that it was my first non-physical job (cocktail waitressing and painting in the years prior).  So my senior year I spent time focusing on how advertisements influenced young children’s attitudes toward play and toys.  And it clicked.  Here was a job I could do without having to go back to school again, which was appealing after an Ivy League education.

 

So I spent the early 1990s attempting to find a job in advertising and marketing.  It wasn’t the easiest task considering that the financial climate wasn’t so hot.  I ended up working in retail to start with, which was great experience, and turned to temping.  This brought me to my first job in a marketing firm, with a focus on point of purchase couponing.  Have you ever gone shopping and they hand you a coupon along with your receipt?  Well, you may have gotten one that was made and researched by me.

 

I discovered after a year and a half at this job that it wasn’t the sort of thing I wanted to do.  Possibly I could have landed a job doing something much more interesting, because at one point I had an interview with Conde Nast, but in the end, I decided that it was time to go back to school and get a further degree.

 

I applied to a few school, including one near my old prep school.  My high school told me that if I was accepted at the local university, that they would let me coach, teach and do my internship there.  After hearing that this university would be very flexible about the program and would allow me to take primarily night courses, my decision was made.  And the three years I spent working at the school (for free but getting great experience) were the best I had in my life so far.  I found my calling, to be a high school counsellor.  I didn’t want to go into public schools, because the folks who were doing that said that they were doing more paperwork and college or career counselling than helping kids with mental and emotional health issues.  But in private schools there was a separation of counsellors; some did the college thing, some did the social and emotional thing.  I was excited.

 

After talking to Callum about my experiences, I figured that he had enough and began to ask him more questions about his life.  I found out that he was an only child, and yet, had a very large family in London.  He had something close to twenty cousins!  I would have thought that he would have wanted many children himself, but he thought that one or two would be perfect.  He had loved his life as an only child, even though he felt his parents focused a bit too much on him.  I felt a slight twinge when he talked about children.  I knew, at age 35, that it was possible I might not be able to have kids.  This would eventually have to be a conversation we’d have in the future, but for now, it wasn’t worth getting into.  Who knew if we’d last that long.

 

The evening was coming to a close, which was a good idea for me as I had such an early start the next day.  If it had been the weekend, I’m not sure I would have been so restrained about my time with Callum.  The more we talked, the hotter I thought he was.  He just got my hormones racing.  Callum walked me to my house where we had a serious make out session.  I can’t even tell you how amazing his lips felt on mine.  I think I almost swooned!!!

 

Callum and I left each other definitely wanting more.  And we planned to meet up on Saturday night at the hockey club as a friend was having a birthday party there.  There was an addictive quality to this relationship, which slightly frightened me.  I had always been someone who fell hard and fast, ignoring the signs and signals that guys tended to give, but which I didn’t want to hear.  I knew I’d have to take this slowly and harden my heart a touch.  I realized that this was the ‘baggage’ that everyone talked about, the messages and worries that you bring from past experience.  So I decided to work very hard not to fall for Callum.  I could enjoy my time, but not plan too far ahead.  I had so few things going for me so far in London and I didn’t need a broken heart on top of the mess at school.

 

On Friday morning I was a bit exhausted, but also excited, as we were talking to the kids about the school trips we were taking in two weeks.  I was thrilled as I was going to be going on the Florence and Tuscany.  We were going to spend two days in Florence, one day in Sienna and then one day at a winery-olive oil farm just outside a Tuscan village.  This was going to be my first European trip since I moved to London and the fact that it was free and already planned made me even happier.  I couldn’t wait.  The other two chaperones had done this trip a few times and assured me that it was an easy trip which allowed for shopping and good food.  Oh, yeah!  As this was my first year at the school, I didn’t really know very many of the kids on my trip, though one of the Mentors was going.  I knew I could count on him to keep things stable.  Taking charge of twenty students was never going to be easy, especially when alcohol and drugs were so available to them.  Perhaps me being the school counsellor would help them make better decisions (at least out of fear of me catching them).

 

Playing field hockey is one of my biggest joys.  It’s also a huge frustration.  When you are the goalie, you can’t afford to make mistakes, and as I’m human I do.  This weekend we were going to be playing one of the top teams in the league, Southgate, so I knew that I’d get some pressure.  I always began the warm-up with my teammates.  I think it makes them feel like I’m truly part of the team and it gets me all psyched up for the game as well.  I then go and change into my kit while the field players hit the ball back and forth.  The kit is an amazing thing.  It’s made out of dense foam which protects your feet, legs and hands.  In the game, a goalie is the only one who can use his or her body to touch the ball and get rid of it.  In addition to the foam armour, I also have a pair of padded pants (similar to American football or ice hockey pants) and a padded chest & shoulder protector.  On top of it all, I have a whole head face mask.  When one of the students saw a picture of me in my kit, they said I look like I’m a warrior in a space fight.  Being a goalie, it’s kind of a weird thing.  Most people think that you are mental because you don’t mind throwing your body in front of quickly hit hard plastic balls.  But honestly, I’ve gotten less injuries than most of the field players I know.  I’m well protected plus I know what I’m doing.

 

The pre-game warm-up continues as a few players hit a ball to me for me to kick back in their direction.  It gets the eye-foot connection going.  I need to be able to direct a ball where I want it to go instead of just reacting.  Then the team does a few hitting drills, pounding it at the goal.  I guess I can see why someone might question my sanity, but the reality is, you have to be very mentally healthy and have good ego strength to be the best goalie you can be.

 

When I was playing in university, I ended up getting a coach who wasn’t my biggest fan.  I don’t know why, but she could have worked with me to make me even better.  In my sophomore year, her first year of coaching, I ended up winning a record with my goals against average.  And I was written up in very complimentary terms by other school’s papers.  So why she decided the following year to knock me down, I’m not sure.  I didn’t have the best mental strength and so it didn’t take much, but it was really hurtful.  I ended up having some issue with my body, issues playing hockey and just issues with myself after that year.  But I kept playing cause I’m stubborn and I love the sport.  It was so refreshing to be playing with people who truly appreciated you and to get coached by someone who only wanted to see you get better.  I was actually playing at a higher level now and playing much better than I ever did in university, despite being a ‘mature’ player.  I hadn’t lost anything but only gained it.  The only good outcome to the abuse I had received as a player was that it ended up making me stronger, and at 35 I now felt very good about myself and my abilities.

 

As the game began, I felt my nerves act up.  It happens every time.  And I did my normal ritual of deep breathing and pulling my focus to the game.  I would shout out direction to the field players so that I would stay in the game and I made sure to keep moving so I wouldn’t get stiff.  As the ball began to head toward my end of the pitch, I started my own internal monologue.  Keep your eyes on the ball, make sure everyone is marked, weight forward, head up, arms held high, attack the ball.  Every second slowed down as they got closer and closer.

 

The ball entered our defensive circle and I started yelling out directions to my players. “Mark the player.  You get on the ball.  I got the cross.  Watch the top of the circle!!!”  A shot was taken and saved, my rebound heading toward the sideline.  A pass across and I dove, hoping to get the ball before the player got their stick on it.  Another save.  And it began to move toward our offensive goal.   Come on girls, let’s score!

 

Day 10 – the novel

We had already finished one bottle of wine and I knew that I didn’t really want to drink any more.  I wanted to be fully present in this date.  I wanted to remember every single moment.  I’m not sure why, as it was ‘just a date’, but I had a feeling that I’d want these memories to last.  So as Callum turned to ask if I wanted another glass of wine, I told him, ‘No, I’d rather have this night be a more sober one.”  And I was rewarded with his crinkled smile which shot through my heart.

 

As we finished off our lovely deserts, him a chocolate cake and me a crème brulee, he asked for the check.  I always hated these moments.  Was he going to be one of those guys who expected you to pay half?  Did he believe, like me, that whoever asks ought to pay?  Or was he a guy’s guy and never allowed a woman to pay?  Awkward!  He put down his credit card and to his horror, he was told by the waitress that they didn’t accept cards.  It was a cash only business.  I could see him looking in his wallet for the non-existent pound notes.  And the waitress turned to let him know that an ATM was only a few blocks away.

“Wait.  Don’t go.  I have enough money to cover this, I’m sure.”  I always had a bunch of cash on me when I went on dates.  I figured I might need to get a cab, or pay half of a meal, or who knows what.  But cash was always a good thing to have.  I thought Callum was going to explode, as he turned such a bright, bright red.  I didn’t think of it as being such a huge deal.  It’s not like he planned on me paying.  “You can get the next one.”  And I winked at him.  I figured that if he couldn’t handle this, then he wasn’t going to be worth dating anyway.

 

Luckily he took a deep breath and allowed me to pay.  Good sign, was all I could think.  We walked out of the restaurant and he turned to me and pulled me into a hug.

“So many girls would not be so cool as to pay for this meal.  I’m quite certain that many would just walk out on me, or sit there waiting for me to go get the money.  Thank you.  I’m embarrassed that it happened, but I appreciate the way you handled it.”

“Not a problem.  Seriously, you can pay for the next meal.  Assuming that you want to go out with me again, that is.”

And with another smile, he pulled me into his chest and kissed me.  Yup, another date was definitely on the cards.

“Allow me at least to take you out for another drink. It’s not that late, it’s a Thursday, and I won’t feel right letting you leave without at least doing something the right way.”

I agreed, and we took off for one of the local pubs not too far from my flat.

 

The North Tavern was a cool joint.  It had retained its old world charm with so many features you’d expect in an old style bar; hardwood floors and bar, pictures of people long dead, a display case with older books, and some well pulled beers.  It was just a great place to hang out if you were an American looking for that pub experience.  In addition, they had great bartenders, fantastic food and a good crowd.  I tended to go here on a Friday evening for one beer, meeting up with a few of my hockey teammates.  I wasn’t surprised, then, when a few of them were sitting at a booth out front.    We both stopped by to chat with the group before heading in for our drinks.  I knew that the word would shortly be out that Callum and I were on a date.  Millie, who was also local, was sure to get a text and head on over to check out the scene.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, we heard her booming Scottish voice heading our way.

“Hiya.  What are you two up ta?”

And bless him, Callum just turned to her and said, “We’re on a date Millie.  Yes, a date.  And it’s all thanks to you pushing us both toward each other that night.  So if it all goes wrong, you’re in big trouble!”

I had to laugh loudly at the look of surprise on her face, which quickly turned to laughter as well.  She knew fully well that we were both good people and if anything did go wrong, the blame would fall where it was meant to go, in our own laps.  We chatted for a bit before Callum sent Millie on her way.  He wanted me all to himself.

 

We got a bit cosy in one of the corner seats and began to talk about how we got into our careers.  While Callum had followed a more traditional path, based on the expectations of his parents, mine was a slightly more interesting story.  My mom had been and still was a teacher in my high school.  She not only taught a few biology courses but also taught the Introduction to Psychology class.  Throughout my childhood, I had seen books in the shelves related to psychological topics, and being a slightly precocious child, had picked them up and began to read.  I loved it all.  My mother, seeing my interest, began to carefully select a few well chosen titles and handed them over to me as I got older.  By the time I was a senior in high school, I had read quite a bit of the popular and text books about therapy and mental health.  I just lapped it up.  I then did the most embarrassing thing and took my mom’s class.  It was a bit of a challenge for us both I think, but luckily I did quite well without any of her help.  I knew that I would major in Psychology in college, but wasn’t sure if I was really interested in being a therapist, though I knew it was something that did appeal in a lot of ways (as I’ve explained a bit before).

 

Day 9 – the novel

I am beyond behind in this writing thing…like 10,000 words behind.  So I’m going to have to slog like mad to make up for it.  But here’s the few words I wrote while I was on a trip with 16 teenagers to play in a hockey tourney in Brussels…it was not the best time to write (nor did I have much time).

It only took me a few minutes to get to the restaurant.  As I got close, I could see Callum out front.  He smiled his quirky smile and then waved a little wave.  I smiled and waved back at him.  It felt slightly awkward being totally sober and seeing this guy for the first time since our slightly drunken escapades.  But I knew I’d get over it quite quickly.  I was always good on first dates.  I had so many of them while living in the DC area while doing the internet dating thing.  It was almost second nature by now.  As I reached his side, he bent down and gave me a quick kiss on my lips.  I felt a little shimmer go through me, releasing a net of butterflies from my stomach.  Mmmmm…nice.

 

We made a bit of small talk, which I forgot immediately, and then entered the restaurant.  I was assailed with a multitude of sights and smells.  The restaurant was very quirky.  To my left were a bunch of small tables that were covered by old advertisements.  Above those tables were two alcoves which you reached by climbing a set of steep stairs.  To the left was another larger alcove in the air with two small tables in the chambers down below.  The art work was fanciful and angelic in nature, brightly lit with fairy lights, and yellow and orange paint. A staircase to my far right was where we were directed.  The handrail was wrought iron and curled upon itself.  The downstairs area was a bit more open than above, with lacquered tables covered in gilt and Italian artwork.  A mask decorated one side with a frieze depicting mythical animals on the other.  It felt like walking into a dreamscape.

 

Callum held my chair for me as I sat, which confirmed my thoughts that he was quite the gentleman.  As the waitress handed us the menu and gave us the overview of what was available on special, our gazes held each other.  The dream-like quality of the evening made me question whether we were really there.  And having no filter in my conversation at this point, I said as much to Callum.  He laughed aloud, a joyous noise, and agreed with me fully.  As we flipped through the menu, we talked about the foods we liked and disliked.  I was not a fan of beets (beetroot as they are called in England) or lima beans, though I’d eat almost anything else.  Oh, and I really despised anything with the texture and mouth feel of oatmeal, which was annoying when on a camping trip.  Callum liked almost everything (bonus!) but was not a huge fan of beans of any sort or broccoli.  He explained, slightly embarrassed, that it had more to do with his stomach dealing with them than with the taste.

 

I chose to have the choux crab to start and the lamb knuckle as my main.  Callum went with the moules (mussels) to start and the beef goulash for his meal.  I hoped that we could actually share as his meal choices sounded so good!  And then it was time to actually talk.  We began with how our day had gone, and I talked a bit about my homesickness that had struck the night before.  He was fully sympathetic, explaining that in the first two months in the States, he had called his mom almost every single day.  And yes, he had been an adult.  We talked a bit more about the differences between the two countries but then began to focus on what was similar.  In both countries, many people stuck to what they knew, and so didn’t move too far from home (or eventually moved back).  There was a distinct fear or hatred of immigrants, particularly those who weren’t white.  That people of color were treated wrongly a lot of the time.  And we talked about how teenagers were become very similar due to the internet and television being available across the oceans.

Our first dishes arrived, which silenced us for a bit.  The meal had started off well and I was truly enjoying myself.  The comfort level which we had felt in a more alcohol-fuelled state was continuing here and I felt that this was a great sign for a potential future.  But I knew enough not to get ahead of myself as great first dates didn’t always translate into second or third.

 

As we drank our wine and talked our talk, I felt a warm glow descend on us both.  Callum reached across the table and took my hand, massaging it as he looked into my eyes.

“I’m having a fantastic time, Liane.  I’m really happy that we have decided to do this.”

“Me too.”

I didn’t feel like I could say anything else, so just smiled in Callum’s direction.

 

The waitress apologetically brought over our main course, interrupted this heartfelt gaze.  In a way it was good timing as I almost felt like things were getting a bit too intense.  This was only a first date, for goodness sake.  Things should be light and fun and that’s all.  But my heart was beating just a bit harder than it had before, and I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to play it cool tonight.

 

“Yum, this is so good.  You have to try it out.”

I was thrilled to taste Callum’s dish and dug in with great relish.  “I like a girl who likes to eat.  So many of them just sit there eating a leaf of lettuce and looking longingly at my meal.”  Eating had never been a problem of mine and I was happy that I wasn’t being judged for my healthy appetite.  I had dated guys in the past who expected me to eat like a bird, and it took away from what I felt was a passionate thing to share…a love of food.  I shared my dish with Callum as well and we continued to enjoy every bite that went into our mouths.  In a teasing sort of way, it became a sensual sort of experience, feeding each other small morsels.

 

Day 9 – the novel (a long one)

(note to readers…I was behind on this whole writing thing and so got into work about 45 minutes early and went to town.  I gave up most of my lunch and continued to work.  I’m now only 500 or so words away from 15,000 which is the goal for the day.  I think that will be easily made up in the next few weeks.  Woo hoo!)

What to cook?  It was my turn to cook dinner for my roommate, or flatmate as they call them here in England.  I had always loved cooking.  As a child, I followed my mom around the grocery store, checking out the ingredients, finding things like all-spice and oregano to be totally exotic.  This is what you get from growing up in small town Pennsylvania.  As I got older and my dad began to cook more and more unique things, I got the bug to experiment.  When high school arrived, my parents decided that I needed to learn to cook and the best way to do so was to have me cook something every week.  I was assigned Sunday nights as I didn’t have sports and so could spend some time researching, shopping and cooking my meal.  Being a typical teenager, in many aspects, I ended up specializing in scrambled eggs (but with a mix of unique spices) and other breakfast foods.  But I did try new things and figured out my future ‘date meal’ during my senior year: garlic and parmesan crusted chicken.  It was a winner.  Tonight I wanted to do something special for my flatmate, Amy, as she had been so helpful in the last month.  I felt that I could survive the hell freezing over atmosphere that I experienced at work on a regular basis.  I decided to do an internet search before leaving work, and went to my favourite place, Epicurious.com.  I wasn’t sure what I wanted and so just went down to the recipe of the day and found a lamb dish with apricots and spicy lentils.  It sounded delish!  And so shopping I went on the way home.

 

I loved heading to Sainsbury’s as it felt so much like a US grocery shop.  There were so many choices, and so many more than I had been used to in the States.  I loved the international ingredients which I never saw unless I went to a speciality shop while living in Boston or DC.  Luckily, this recipe was going to be easy to shop for and to make, so it took very little time for me to walk through the aisles and get to the queue at the front.  Queuing is a great art form that seems to be losing itself in Britain.  Little old ladies definitely still take part, but I think that many of the newer immigrants (Americans as well), don’t get the rules and so break them with abandon.  But at the shops, unlike by the bus stop or on the tube,  it’s pretty well defined.

 

One of the things I had to get used to in England was measurements of my food.  You’d think we’d all have something standard.  But no, the US had their own thing, while the rest of the world did yet another.  I bought a scale to measure weights, usually for baking, and bought a new set of measuring cups as there was a different.  This time, as the recipe was from a US source, I was able to use the measuring cups and spoons that I had brought over with me.  The things you learn as an expat.

 

Dinner went well as we talked about my future date and about the kids at our school.  It’s a fact of life as a teacher that talk will inevitably move toward kids if you are speaking to another teacher.  It always drove my dad crazy when my mom was socializing with her work crew.  But you get used to it and eventually get to know the kids through the stories.  Amy told me all sorts of fun things about the kids in her math class, from who was surprisingly the top of the class to the common mistakes that freshmen made in Algebra.  I know, we’re a thrilling pair to hang with!  After we finished with our meal, we retired to the couch with a glass of wine to watch our normal Tuesday night run of shows on TV.  Addicts, we were.

 

The next morning, after a short workout and a shower at the gym (that guilt hit again, you know), work preceded as normal, even though I could barely contain myself.  More more day.  Only one!  I was in the midst of typing up my plan for our next Health class when a girl came to my door crying, supported by one of my Mentors.  Lisa was a new girl at the school, and had come over, unwillingly, from Houston, Texas.  She had left behind all the friends and family she had spent an entire life getting to know.  This was her first experience of moving.  And she was not happy.

 

“I don’t have any friends.  I miss my friends at home.  I hate all my teachers.  My teachers all hate me.  My parents never listen to me and I just want to go home.  This isn’t working at all.  And I hate it here.”

 

These were not unusual statements to hear from a new student adjusting to a new school.  And when you are working at an international school, with kids who are far away from what they consider home, then you hear these words much more so and much louder than in the US.  Most kids who move overseas have these feelings at one point or another.  That they don’t fit.  That they’ll never make friends.  That they will lose the friends that they have left behind.  That they just won’t ever be happy again.  I knew that this would not be the last young one who would say these statements to me this year, and as kids came into the school at different times of the year, it would be never ending.  I found in talking to the previous counsellor and to all the people who worked with these students that this was typically just a phase, and over time, almost every kid found his or her place at the school.  It was quite rare that a child would not find a friend or at least some sort of connection before their first year was out.  But most kids didn’t want to give it that time, and parents tended to freak out after about a few months.  It would be up to me to let them know about the norms and help them realize that they weren’t alone in this process.  That many others had felt this way in the past, and there were things to do which would make life much better.

 

Lisa and I talked about these things along with her Mentor, who had arrived at the school as a new freshman as well.  We tried to brainstorm ways to reconnect to her old friends, while not pushing away the possibility of someone new.  It was a bit harder since Lisa didn’t want to come to like this place, since she had not be part of the decision to come here.  But we also talked a lot about how horrible it would be to stay somewhere for a year or two and feel miserable the entire time.  But what if being happy meant she’d never go back?  That was the crux of the problem.  The fight between being happy and not going home.  If she kept up the front then her family might be forced to return, sooner rather than later.  I knew that today was not going to be our last conversation and I got her promise that we would talk again, with her Mentor, later in the week.  This was the kind of challenge that got me into counselling.  I didn’t always turn a kid around, but at the least, I laid the groundwork for growth even if it happened much later.  Planting a seed is what we therapists call it.

 

I decided, for some unknown reason, to do a second short workout and shower after work.  I guess it would mean that I could get away with not doing so the next morning, but really I think it was more to calm my mind.  Between thinking about homesickness and thinking about my date, my psyche was a bit overwhelmed.  I had been so excited about moving to England that I didn’t really take the time to get too worried or homesick.  I had felt a bit sad after about two weeks, more due to the work issue, but nothing had hit me too much as of yet.  But as I thought about what was going on with Lisa, with my job and thought about how far away my friends and family were, I was struck down with a bit of the blues.  I stood in the gym shower and just cried.  It was lucky that the showers were private and that no one seemed to hear me.  What was I doing in England?  I knew I loved so much about it.  I enjoyed walking around central London and seeing the buildings which were older than the country I came from.  I had so much fun with my hockey crew and getting to play yet again.  And I was making friends.  What was my problem?  I just felt the distance grow in my mind and knew that I needed to make the time to call one of my parents and an old friend or two.  I just missed things being easy and having someone to call to grab a coffee at a random moment.

 

My homesickness wasn’t helped as I went to do a load or two of laundry.  This was a serious challenge for me after the ease of doing it back in the States.  There I had owned a huge washer and dryer which could handle what felt like acres of clothing.  Here, in my rented flat, we had a small washer and no dryer.  I could wash about three towels and a tee-shirt at the same time, or so it felt.  And then I had to wait at least a day or two for the items to dry on a plastic rack. Oh, how I missed my dryer.  I knew that what I was doing in England was so much better for the environment and, in the long run, my clothes, but it still was one more thing that added to the difficulty of living in London.

 

Living overseas was a dream that came over time.  Family had done so, and I figured it might be kinda fun to have that sort of adventure.  I had spent some time in London, France and India before this, so I knew it was something I could do.  And one would think that living in an English speaking nation would make it much easier.  Well, I’m not so sure.  See you tend to expect things to be pretty much the same as where you came from, cause we’re speaking the same language.  And then you realise that it truly is not.  The same language that is.  You begin to understand what they mean when you hear them talking about aubergine and courgette on the cooking shows.  You figure out that a car park is not a place for fun.  And then there are the small little differences in the way things are done.  Getting a bank account?  Well that’s not a joy.  I remember opening my first as an adult in Pennsylvania and it took next to nothing to do so.  But here I felt like I had to go through so many steps and prove that I was WORTHY of opening up a small little checking account, which they called a current account.  It’s the little differences, the unexpected ones, which can make it so hard.

 

Luckily, I have a relatively buoyant nature.  It’s something good to have as a counsellor; the ability to just bounce back and be positive.  As a young person I had made up my mind to only allow myself to wallow in a bad mood for about 24 hours max, two hours if it was about something inconsequential.  Homesickness, while never a good thing, didn’t rank so high on my ‘feeling bad’ scale at that moment, so I knew I could get past it relatively quickly.  I had a plan in place, to talk to someone that weekend, which made me feel much, much better.  Plus it was Amy’s turn to cook and she was amazing!  A hot meal in my tummy was the cure for all evils.

 

Another good meal under my ever expanding belt (thank goodness for that double workout) and a dose of American sitcoms, and both Amy and I were feeling quite good.  The next glass of wine didn’t hurt our mood in any way, and gave me the courage to call Callum to see how things were going.  I didn’t normally make a move in the early stages of dating, but I just felt like he wouldn’t mind so much.  We talked a bit about our hockey practices and the people on our team.  He let it out that he had gotten quite a bit of ribbing the night before from a few of the guys who had seen us kissing at the Underground Bar on Saturday night.  But all it did was make him look forward to our date the next night.  YAY!  He was excited too!

 

***

 

The day had arrived.  THE day.  And I truthfully felt like I was sixteen years old again, going on my first date ever (I was a late bloomer, which you would have been too if your parent was a teacher at your school).  I was giddy with excitement.  And due to the fact that school got out early every Wednesday, I was going to do a bit of shopping.  I didn’t NEED to buy anything to wear that evening, and I had an outfit planned for the night since first being asked, but I WANTED to buy something spectacular.  I knew that this probably would mean I’d find nothing to buy, which is a cardinal law of shopping, but I was willing to chance it as I had an extra hour or two to spend trying.

 

Being new to London meant that I had major expenses up front to be paid.  And the exchange rate hadn’t been kind to me.  So I wasn’t exactly flush with extra cash.  I didn’t have a credit card because I didn’t have any credit in England and they didn’t care what it had been in the US.  So I was going to have to be a bit frugal and creative in my outfit purchasing. I knew I wanted to go with something a bit nicer than jeans and a top, but nothing too formal or sexy as well.  Just a touch sexy.  Perhaps black trousers (you never called them pants here) and a tank top of some sort would be the way to go.  I had black jeans at home with a funky black top.  It was very New York black, but I wasn’t sure if that was the way I wanted to go.

 

My style was a bit funky prep, so I thought that I could kinda head that way, if the London stores had anything in that kinda of style.  I started out at Debenhams, which had quite a few affordable lines.  I found a few black trousers to try on (no, you can’t call them pants…that’s what underwear is called) but didn’t really find the top which struck a chord.  I had them hold onto one of the pairs, which fit me like a glove, and went on to the mecca of shopping, Selfridges.  Most of the departments are quite unaffordable for a teacher like me, but a few of them are accessible.  I started my search in the ‘basement’ which has a lot of the brands favoured by teens and young 20-somethings.  As I can pass for either at times, I figured, why not?  Again, I struck out.  I then wandered further up, toward brands like Hobbs and Fern Wright Manson.  It was there that I found the item I was hoping for.  I tried on and love a gorgeous red rouched top that would look so perfect with the black trousers.

I finished up my afternoon shop with the purchase of a new lipstick, which went perfectly with my lovely outfit.  In the end, I’d be wearing black trousers, a red top and a pair of black high heeled boots underneath.  I’d add on my black leather jacket to keep me warm.  I was going to look good!

 

As I didn’t have a shower at home that was working (darn those slow moving water people), I stopped by the gym and took a shower.  Workout be damned.  I had a date!  I slathered on a ton of product to keep my face all nice and moisturized and my hair wonderfully shiny with its lovely curl.  I had to admit that as a female, I kinda had it easy.  All I needed to do was wash, use some gooey stuff, slightly dry with a diffuser and I ended up with a gorgeous head of curls.  Some people paid good money for that.  People who are blessed with curly hair do know though that it takes years to get to that point.  It explained my shaved head, mushroom cut and various other bad cuts that happened until I finally figured out how to ‘do’ my look.

 

I made it home without the wind playing too much havoc on my locks, and went to iron my outfit so I would look perfect.  I laid out my makeup with care, figured out what jewellery would look right and then went and had a glass of white wine to relax a bit.  I still had a few hours until I had to leave.  Amy kept giving me pep talks as I slightly hyperventilated on the couch.  I knew it would be fine and we’d have fun, but I just couldn’t imagine what we were going to talk about.  We had made it past the normal first date phase in the evening we spent in the Underground Bar, talking about where were from and all of that.  I guess perhaps we could talk more about his experiences in the US and mine here.  But who knew?

 

I had to finally suck it up and get dressed as the time to leave was drawing near.  I was meeting Callum not too far away at a lovely little restaurant in Kilburn called A Small Place.  My hockey teammates had raved about it, saying that it was such a cool place to go for a first date.  The food was good, the decor was funky and everything wasn’t too expensive so you never felt guilty if you got some wine or a desert.

 

I walked down the street and grabbed a bus which would lead me to the restaurant. I could barely touch my Oyster card to the monitor as my hands shook so badly.  I went to the middle of the bus and my knees were quaking as I stood there, only a few stops away from seeing Callum again.  I took a deep breath and walked off the number 16 bus, heading toward A Small Place.

 

Day 7 & 8 – the novel

(Didn’t have a very productive Sunday, so putting out what I wrote then and what I wrote today):

The day came quickly to a close with a lot less stress.  I had a few meetings with the Mentors to talk about their charges and met with my boss to talk about David and his mom.  I enjoyed my hot lunch compliments of the school.  Overall, it wasn’t too bad a day for a school counsellor.  Busy but not insane. 

 

As it was Monday, I had my hockey training in the evening from eight to ten.  I had a love-hate relationship with this evening.  Hockey is one of my favourite activities.  I get great exercise, have a lot of fun and I connect to other people.  What’s not to love?  But it’s also quite late to be playing this sport.  I get home around 10:30, shower, eat and then am in bed at around 11:15.   I wake up every weekday at 6am.  So not a huge amount of sleep at the beginning of the week.  The love of playing my sport again was, at this moment, outweighing the lack of sleep.  I had a great evening with the team, working on diving across the net and talking to the defence.  Being a goalie was so rewarding.  And yes, it was also a bit mental, with balls flying at your face and one mistake causing a change in score.  I loved it.

Back to home and I was thrilled to be one day closer to my date.  I didn’t expect to get a call, but was pleasantly surprised to have a text from Callum asking me about my day.  I texted back with all sorts of pleasantries as I didn’t think a new guy needed to hear about the stress and quite honestly, I had to keep such things confidential.

Tuesday.  It’s Tuesday.  Only two more days and a bunch of hours until I can go on my date.  I know…it’s getting pathetic that I’m so excited and thinking about it so much, but I just can’t help it.  It’s been a while.  A LONG while since I had an actual date.

 

The last two years before moving to London were spent in Boston, Massachusetts.  It was a great city and I loved living there.  But dating in Boston was a bit of a challenge.  And I had left my previous city, DC, following a bad breakup. So I wasn’t particularly interested in dating my first year though I did go out once in a while just out of boredom.  The guy I dated in Boston was in the mid-winter, just before I had decided to leave my job there.  I had decided to go the route of internet dating and he was one of the guys who popped up on my screen.  Attractive, professional and he rode a motorcycle; not a bad combo in a man.  We met at a bar in Cambridge, which was half-way between both of our homes.  And he was very nice.  We talked for an hour without stopping.  We had lots in common.  And he unfortunately looked far too much like my brother.  I tried to get over it as he was someone I really could see myself with, but it was overwhelming.  I went on a second and third date, but couldn’t get beyond that feeling of things just not being right, especially when we kissed.  It truly was the kiss of death for that relationship. So a date about so many months later was quite big news in my life.

 

I walked into our ancient shower to get ready for work.  It made a loud grown and then…nothing.  No water.  Not a single drop.  What the heck?!  I ran downstairs to the sink in the kitchen and attempted to get water from there.  Again, nothing.  What was I going to do?  What was going on?  It’s too early for this sort of crap.  Then I looked out the window and saw that our street was no longer just asphalt; it was more like a rippling stream.  The water main had busted which was the explanation for our lack of H2O.  Argh!  I knew it wasn’t all that big a deal since I had showered the night before after hockey.  Still, not what you want to deal with at 6:00am.  After eating a bowl of cereal for breakfast, I left a note for my roommate on the bathroom door, so that she could make alternative plans (she could always go to the gym), and I made my way to work, figuring I could at least get some stuff done with the extra time I had on my hands.

 

It was amazing how much emptier the tube was at this time in the morning.  Normally I had to fight for a space, no less a seat.  Taking the Underground was typically a challenge in the best of times, and rush hour was the worst.  Like most people living in London, I found time to complain about the tube.  The funny thing?  It’s really not that bad.  Yes, it’s somewhat expensive for what we get, and there are moments when it doesn’t work and really it should, but overall, it’s not half bad.  What I like about riding in the tube is watching people.  And believe me, people on the tube are fun to watch.  Take for instance, today’s group in my carriage.  Over in the corner of the tube, where you have to stand but also have a little place to prop your butt, there is a guy with his guitar.  He is resplendent with tattoos along his arms, and one (I think tears?) along his neck.  His black jeans are lightly ripped and he’s wearing a black leather vest.  He is getting eyed up by a young girl sitting across from him, who is the antithesis of the type of girl I’d imagine he’d get on with.  This young thing is dressed in the most classic of clothing; a dark grey pencil shirt, a thin piped red poplin shirt, grey heels and her requisite pearls.  Across from me was a guy who I assumed worked in construction.  His jeans were patched with white paint as was his shirt.  He had a bucket between his stretched out legs containing what looked like a few brushes and perhaps a roller.  I loved the fact that he was in what I called “the guy pose”.  You know this pose.  It’s the one where guys spread their legs wide open, taking up as much space as they can, without touching a guy next to them.  It’s like they are showing their wares off to the rest of the world.  It tends to crack me up most days (unless they are taking up my personal space…then I’m just peeved).  These are just three of the characters on the tube who entertain me as I head to work.  And my favourite game is to give them stories.

 

The musician is actually quite famous and trying to hide by being out in plain daylight.  He’s tired of running from screaming teenagers and paparazzi, and so enlisted a friend to dress like him as a diversion.  He’s loving his moments of quiet on the tube, listening to his iPod as it plays a bit of blues music (a fact that would shock his heavy metal fans).  The young girl comes from a wealthy family, but she has gone against their wishes and quit university one year in.  She still has the clothing she owned back then and was able to get a job at a small gallery.  She did this all for the love of an artist, who has unfortunately gone back to his wife.  She doesn’t regret losing the golden chains but is, right now, thinking back wistfully of her life of leisure and the fact that she could right now be in a Bentley with a driver.  The construction worker has been doing this for years.  He used to live in Poland but decided to move to London as the market for his sort of work was booming.  He left behind a lover, who was pining for him, but being a big, bold and good looking guy, he had no problem finding someone new.  He got on with his boss and the other workers, though he could hear the murmurings of some of the fellows about “them foreigners taking our jobs.”  Did I tell you I have always had a great imagination?

 

I arrived at school and went to talk to the Dean who was dealing with David, just to check in.  He seemed to be feeling a lot better and his mom had gotten him an appointment with a therapist.  I felt happy that things had progressed so well.  The conversation then turned to my experience so far at the school.  This particular person was someone who had not taken part in the mean girl behaviour at the beginning of the year, but was friends with some who had.  I talked mainly about the kids and the struggle to get to know them and break down the barriers, but then she touched upon the personal issues I had encountered.  She felt badly that some of her friends were being so mean and told me that it happened once in a while.  Somehow, faculty seemed to take on the personality of the group that they worked with; lower school teachers tended to be softer, warm & fuzzy, middle school teachers were found themselves in cliques, and the high school faculty could sometimes get a touch bitchy with one another.  She told me to give it time, and things would work out.  I didn’t really have confidence that this was true, but as I had one good friend in my roommate and had a social life outside the school, I didn’t really care all that much.  Or at least that’s what I told myself.

 

The day passed by without further incident, and my roommate told me that our landlord had investigated the flooding of our street.  We were going to be stranded without water for at least a few days, so it looked like I was going to be spending more time at our gym than I planned.  I like being fit.  And I love playing sport.  So going to a gym to workout is something that is necessary to my life.  But I hate going to the gym with a passion.  I don’t know why exactly as I feel so good after a workout is done.  But it was something that I had to push myself to do.  I think it all started after I tore my ACL (anterior cruciate ligament,) back in my days in Washington, DC.  I was on crutches and in a brace for six weeks straight and couldn’t do much exercise for almost six months.  I began to enjoy watching television much more and learned to love my couch.  I got lazy.  So now I had no excuse.  In order to shower, I had to go to the gym, and I wouldn’t just go to the gym to shower, I had to work out.  At least there, like the tube, was plenty of eye candy!