astronaut mike dexter
I went out with the matchmaker’s pick tonight, and though she doesn’t (and probably won’t ever) know it, I owe her an apology.
I really thought I wasn’t going to like him and was, in fact, mentally composing a “what a disaster” post on the way to the date. (I realize this is unattractively pessimistic, but it’s based on a combination of reflex self-preservation and an awkward voicemail/phone conversation from a few days ago.)
But I was pleasantly surprised.
He was cute. A little cleaner cut than I like, but cute. Big, blue eyes.
We had dinner at a really great Cuban restaurant I’d never been to—a hole-in-the-wall kinda place—and then a group salsa lesson in the restaurant.
He did the gentlemanly bells and whistles: pulled out my chair, helped me into my coat, walked me to my car. I appreciate those things. I’m not certain about the chemistry yet, but I’m not ruling it out.
He’s an FBI field agent.
No, really. He carries a gun and taps people’s phones and is part of mob stings and so on. In fact, the mob is his area.
Just writing that I’m giggling because it sounds so made up.
But I live in DC. Here, a government job can fall anywhere between sanitation and espionage. It keeps things interesting.
We have a potential second date next weekend, work schedule permitting.
In related news, two hours prior to the date I was pocket-dialed by the lawyer I went out with several months ago, the date that went SO well he asked me on a second within the hour … and then I never hear from him again. Kinda funny. I only know it was a pocket dial because of the swishy, wordless voicemail he left. So much for the semi-comforting thought that maybe he’d just lost my number.
In other related news, an hour or so before that I received a text from TSG, who I haven’t heard a peep out of in weeks.
ROB REINER: What do they call that? When everything intersects?
TOM HANKS: The Bermuda Triangle