So… The Sous and I made things official this week. So… yea… I’ve got a *gulp* boyfriend. Or something. It’s all very strange to say… Like, some sort of foreign language that you knew in high school but haven’t spoken in years. You know what the word means, you can even say it… it just feels… foreign.
We had this incredibly romantic date on Wednesday night. He made reservations for dinner and when I was telling my sister about it, I joked that I haven’t been out to dinner with reservations since… prom. Seriously. Should I pick up a boutonniere for him? It was lovely and romantic and just… awesome. We shared our food and talked and held hands over the table and gah — I’m going to shut up now.
I promise, I am not going to turn into that girl. You know, that girl. The one that is always gushing and over-sharing about every single little stupid detail of her new romance… Where you have to listen to her go on and on about all of the little finite details of their entire evening, the menu, the conversation, the way the sidewalk had cracks, the bartender’s name — all of those stupid, unimportant to you things. I won’t do it.
He’s great though. He gets me… Which is weird… Because sometimes I don’t even get myself! And I just feel like he’s so very transparent that it helps me not to feel so guarded. There’s no guesswork for me — he’s clear and open with how he feels about me, what direction he wants to go, etc. I’m done feeling like a deer in headlights and I’m leaping. My heart wants to… So I’m gonna.
Leapy, leapy, leapy.