I’m sorry that I’m not sorry

Let me just start by saying that this man had the most wonderful name ever. I mean, it was descriptive, it sounded nice when spoken out loud, and it just fit this person. Obviously I can’t tell you what that name was, as I have no wish to embarrass people (or get myself in any legal trouble); however, I can create a pseudonym. So let’s call this one “Catcher.” And no, that is not a comment on his sexuality.

In yet another foray onto Craigslist (I do that a lot), I hawked myself as a lover of afternoon runs, tons of breakfast tacos, and mimosa-laden brunches at Tacos & Tequilas whilst singing old-school Jay-Z hits. The responses were many, the connections were few, and then I got Catcher’s email. He didn’t even attach a picture, but he just seemed to get it. The picture came after we had already conversed a few times, and I was not disappointed. We emailed for a few days, texted for a week, then… it was time for the great reveal.

We decide to meet at Cedar Door to watch a football game that featured an SEC team that I secretly despise, but which he loved, so I played along. Here was the kicker – he brought a friend. A female friend. Yes, she was at least ten years our senior; yes, she was married and had kids; but she was a female friend who was sitting at the bar with us during our first meeting. Alarm bells now, please.

Okay, I figure I’ll hang out until halftime, have a few drinks, and then I can make my getaway from this incredible awkwardness.  Except that, by halftime, we had taken a shot for every touchdown which this team made (I think the score was 35-0 at this point), and I’d had a couple of screwdrivers, so I was in no place to drive. Plus, I was actually enjoying myself. So I stayed. The friend was very nice to me, Catcher paid the tab, all was right with the world and then – we kissed.

Now, I am not one of those women who think that the world begins and ends on a kiss, but you have to understand: This was the first kiss I had had with someone who wasn’t my ex-husband in over four years.  For about ¼ of my kissing life (time from which I had my first kiss to present), I had been kissing the same man. And Catcher was not that man.

I completely reveled in it. We made out like teenagers for literally hours. We grabbed dinner at 2nd Bar and Kitchen, we headed back to Cedar Door to watch the UT game (Hook ‘em!), we were all over each other – it was intoxicating. Not only that, we were connecting on every level. We liked the same movies, the same t.v. shows, the same music. We were quoting things back and forth, he kept using the same funny lines (“I’m sorry that I’m not sorry”), we were completely in the zone. By this point, I had stopped drinking a couple of hours before, so I was settled enough to drive.  We walked to my car, I drove him to his hotel, more making-out, he promised to call the next day, I headed home. We texted for a bit, and I went to sleep.

And nothing. I never heard a word from Catcher again. Did I try to initiate contact? No.  So, yeah, I chickened out there. I’m a little old-fashioned in my thinking that a guy should be the first to contact after a date. And having only ever had one one-night stand before, I wasn’t sure if this qualified. Can you have a make-out-only one night stand with someone you had been communicating with pretty regularly before? Did the female friend cock-block me (as so many people have surmised)? Was I emotionally slutty? (yes) I have no idea. Catcher may not have been my ultimate catch (I slay me!), but it was a lovely, if overly alcoholic, evening, albeit, one in which I cheered for a team I cannot stand, may the football gods forgive me.

– Finch

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