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Saturday, August 18, 2007 [continued from previous entry] Stumbled into the B&B, spewing aplogies re: being late, waving the item to be returned. Was met with a mystified stare and an assurance that there was no rush, no problem, not even any real need, apparently, for the item to be returned. I shrugged, handed over said item, disappeared into my comfy hideyhold to prepare for the evening. The activity for the evening: a real live date. Before heading north, I'd taken out a craig's list ad, seeking platonic-only fun with a nice woman during my stay. A woman -- I. -- had responded, the connection had turned out to be fun, interesting, and we decided to go ahead with a 3-D rendezvous. I. would come to Plateau, where I was staying, find parking, call me. We'd take it from there. Her ETA: seven o'clock, give or take. That hour arrives, slips past -- no phone call. I wait patiently. (After all, who in their right mind would pass up an opportunity to spend an evening with my humble self?) Around 7:30, I send an email expressing concern, me hoping nothing bad had happened to her. Called the number I had for her, couldn't get through. Time passed, I continued with the occasional email, im and phone call. Nothing, my concern growing with each failed attempt. At some point, maybe around 8:30, an email from I.'s teenage daughter arrived, wanting to if everything was all right, supplying I.'s number (the one I'd been calling, unable to get through). An attempt to answer that produced a message notifying me that the address was not valid. By the time the two-hour mark loomed, I'd begun to grapple with the possibility that I might have been blown off. (So flattering. So much fun.) I tried I.'s number one more time. It rang. Someone answered. And I heard a female voice, a nice one. We each cautiously spoke the other person's name, we waded cautiously into a dialogue, each of us stressed, unhappy. Turned out she was close by, a few minutes later I was walking quickly through neighborhood streets to meet her. I reached the appointed intersection, saw a woman diagonally across it, waved, made my way across (careful to avoid passing vehicles). A very attractive woman, turned out, with long, wavy brown hair, wearing a black dress that showed a fair amount of leg. We exchanged cautious hellos, began discussing the previous two hours of pure joy, both of us sounding mystified and frazzled re: the massive crossing of wires. Somewhere in there it came to light that this lay at the root of the mess: a few days earlier, when I'd given this woman my number, I'd apparently supplied my home number instead of my mobile number -- the first and only time that's ever happened. She'd arrived on time, parked her car, and when she tried to call, she got my answering machine back in Vermont (because, you know, I wasn't at home). Two hours of hilarity ensued. I absorbed that, mystified, then took the only possible course of action: apologized. And appreciated the fact that this woman had hung in there, hadn't gone home, spewing foul things about me to everyone she knew. We found a restaurant that looked promising, waded inside, secured a table by windows. Talked, ate. Talked more. Two hours later, we walked along the crowded sidewalks of the nearest main drag. Found a café with tables outside, glommed onto cups of coffee, sat and talked. Four hours after we'd finally connected, the night began turning cold, we finished up, deciding it had gone so well (after the disastrous first two hours) that we'd try it again the next day, herself offering to show me The Offertory (big church, big dome, big view of city). [continued in entry of 8/24] España, te echo de menos. rws 7:20 PM [+]
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