(Less than great) expectations
“…How about an update on your trip? Hope you’re staying up late and doing things that’d get you divorced if you were still married.”
Oh, that Jean Luc is so supportive and hopeful. I, too, was hopeful about getting a little action. By action, I mean anything beyond minor flirtation, that includes prolonged conversations about useless bullshit topics, repeated visits, more than one sentence basically. If any of that includes checking me out — in a good way, not because I stink of sweat and/or look like a homeless person, not hot by the way! — that would be icing on the tiny cake of even tinier expections!
I set my sights very low, dared not hope for anything wild and crazy like someone’s hand on my shoulder or my lower back, a whisper in the ear. No point in seeking or expecting any of that since I was traveling with four other women in my family. Nothing like traveling with one’s mother, grandmother, great-aunt and (regular) aunt to catch someone’s eye.
The week started strong with all the flirtations of Tuesday evening (See my Hello, boys! post for a recap). None of it was taken the least bit seriously by me, so I didn’t have a chance to overthink things, get nervous and freak out. Wednesday morning was spent swimming with two women. Okay, I they were a mother dolphin and her daughter dolphin — thankfully, it was not the least bit hot because that would just be sick! — but I took it as a good sign. If I could hug the dolphins (there’s a photo just waiting to be scanned and posted one day soon) that could be a warm-up for something a little more interesting (read: much more human…Yes, I am a silly person.)
Upon returning to our boat, I was told that my grandmother had a nasty fall a few blocks away from the pier. She, my aunt Genevieve, and my Mother spent the morning in the infirmary having a nurse check Grandma for any serious damage. There was none, thank goodness, except for her bruised ego. After lunch with my (regular) Aunt Teak, and her two friends also traveling with us, the time was after two p.m., much too late to venture out alone. {No, I don’t really think so either, but my mom does. Never mind that I’ve traveled alone in Spanish speaking countries before — Baja California for two days, Costa Rica for a week — because she wasn’t there to witness it, or stop me!} It occured to me to go anyway, then deal with the fall-out once I retuned, but my rebellious teen years ended more than fifteen years ago. I chose to stay on board like the good daughter I am.
After that, there was nothing interesting to report until Friday night, another Formal Night (aka All-Ages Prom) in the dining rooms. Those evenings have extra activities designed to keep everyone up late and in a festive mood. Add in a little dress-up and it gets kinda fun.
I easily met my flirtation quota just walking into the room. More lingering glances, some stopped conversations, looking me up and down — all are things that rarely happen to me. By the end of dinner, I also earned some extra credit cute guy points when the hot Swedish maitr’de stopped to talk to me and my Aunt Genevieve. He stopped because he heard us singing (low), but stayed for the chit-chat. He urged us to attend the 11:45 pm buffet for the magnificent ice sculptures and some fancy hor d’ourves. That invitation was extended to everyone, of course, but probably without the five minutes of lingering conversation and the occasional glance at cleavage (mine, not Aunt Genevieve!), and the rest of me (again, not Aunt Genevieve…as far as I noticed!). Call me crazy, but I knew that if I went, I would probably spend more time with him and, honestly, that scared me!
Okay, brace yourself, because this is the part where you’ll write me annoyed letters and ask me to have myself checked for a concussion, just as Grandma was…but I didn’t go. (Shocking, isn’t it?) I know, I know, but I just couldn’t stay up. I was about to write how I really tried, but that wouldn’t be completely truthful. I partly tried.
I had three and a half hours to kill, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. I could have read my book downstairs, but I wasn’t about to wrinkle my nice dress. I also wasn’t about to take the chance of having cute men see me dressed up, then dressed down, then back up again in the short span of three and a half hours. So, I laid down on my bed, in the dark, because my Mom (also my roomate) was already asleep in bed, and waited for the time to pass. I held out until a little after ten p.m. (I think), before giving in to sleep.
Whatever the explanation, I didn’t go. I hate to admit that I was both relieved of the self-consciousness and pressure I’d place on myself, but also disappointed that I gave in yet again to my fears. Yep, I was a total chickensh*t and I don’t like it. I really want this to stop, but have a hard time not giving into it. This has got to change.
Tonight’s dining room dress code returned to informal, so I was back in jeans. As we left the dining room, we all waved goodbye to the two maitre’ds, who responded with kindness and pleasant smiles. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the Swede watched me walk away. So, dressed up or not, at least there’s the knowledge that I can have so much more than flirtation when I’m good and ready.
The real question is when will I be ready?
I want a do-over,
Flo
Add comment October 21st, 2006