Posted April 13th, 2004 by Michelle

So… I guess you could kind of sort of say, in a small way, that I’m kind of hanging out with someone.

I’ve not really written of it, or spoken of it, because, well, I haven’t had to. It’s strange, too, how I’m pretty sure we are not really seeing each other, or dating. I mean, god no. But… but, well, he’s incredible.

It’s the baker. The baker I’ve mentioned. I cannot do him justice on this blog, not really, you’d just have to be there when I call him and tell him I’m stopping by for a few minutes and he says, “You are? God, this is a great day” and he’s totally one hundred percent serious.

We were at dinner last night, where of course I had to mention to him that I might not be capable of any more than what is happening right now, blah blah yadda yadda but finally we got off of that and we started discussing gender issues. i suppose this is the time to remember that he is 24 years old. 24. I have often said that I would rather date men who were 44 than 24. But he is a glorious 24, so wide open to his emotions, so ebullient and passionate without a trace of fear. He says things that coming from someone else would be ridiculous, but from him they make sense. You’ve never met anyone more honest. Everything that comes from his mouth is inspired, truly- and not that it’s all poetry, lord no, but the things he says come from a place that cannot be mocked.

He’s worked hard all of his… very few… adult years, and is the most dedicated, passionate person I’ve met since I’ve been here. And he notices everything. Absolutely everything. A lock of my hair falls down and it alters his reality. Just when I think he might be running out of kindness, of sweetness, of deeply meaningful compliments, I realize he’s just warming up. So at dinner last night, we are talking about the differences between men and women in friendships. Which sent me on a tirade (that and two glasses of wine, now that I’m back to being a lightweight) and I jumped on my “it sucks that women are bred to be competitive and ugly with one another which means I don’t have many women friends” soapbox. And somewhere in there I was comfortable enough with him, this relative stranger, to talk about my own sexuality issues, how I have sometimes used certain attributes of my physicality to get what I’ve wanted in life, and how tragic that is, but that there is a generation with whom that stuff works. Also, that I walk up to a table at the best restaurant in New York and businessman #1 actually pats my bum while businessman #2 asks me to run along and find him someone who can talk to him about wine.

My baker fought me on it, saying that if my smile opened doors, my mind kept me in the room. And then he said, “I am not a beautiful man, but that is not going to stop me. I’m still going to make things happen. I’m still going to go somewhere.”

This was in the middle of a heated conversation, and the evening kept rolling right along. I mean, my baker looks like a baker. He looks like pastries are an option. He doesn’t exactly have most of his hair.

After dinner, we went and shot pool, which is clearly one of my favorite pastimes. We each won two games, with me sharking enough shots to rattle him just enough. He’s a great pool player. He aims for about three seconds and then figures it will go in or not.

Is he funny enough? Quick enough? Mature enough? My perfect match? No. None of these things. What he is, though, is the best man I’ve ever met. When he’s ten years older, if he can hang on to his purity, his goodness, and his terrific bank shot, he’s going to be brilliant. Right now, he’s an angel, an angel who cooks, and every day he gives me a leg up back towards my feelings of self-worth. Every day when I see him, I expect him to be less excited to see me, even if just incrementally. I expect his attentions to wander. I’m sad that this is my expectation. It says so much that I wasn’t even aware of. But every day he’s only better, kinder, more giving to me. And beside himself if I have 5 minutes to give him.

I don’t want to get used to this, and I will not mislead him. But right now it’s so lovely. And eventually I’m going to have to tell him he was wrong last night. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve met.