(Dates #2 and #3 in future post)

Morning after Date #4 with the Journalist. I think he might be growing on me. Not in a bad way like fungus, good like, well, good. I never imagined I’d date someone like him. Vice versa, I’m sure. He’s got the substance part down to the letter. Do I?

I’m behaving like an adult now, too. So unlike me. It’s a courtship, no moving too fast ’cause I’m plotting my course, setting boundaries. Who knew I was capable of being a grown up? He tasted all my vegan food last night and said he’d enjoy trying Elizabeth’s Gone Raw. (Jaw dropped to floor.) “Be careful what you wish for” has never been so spot on. He encourages me, my writing/blog, getting published, knows and has experienced so much. And he READS. Loves music, films, and loves talking about it. (!!) He’s way cooler than I am. 

Still, no expectations. Date by date. Oh, last night we ate at a favorite place that pays homage to Langston Hughes, hometown legend, and others of the Harlem Renaissance (which the Journalist will have you know started in DC, then moved to NYC), plus supports LGBT/peace/veganism/civil/women’s rights, etc. A great vegan-friendly restaurant with a Teaching for Change non-profit progressive bookstore that we explored with glee (adult glee) after dinner. Doesn’t get much better than that.

He drove me home, conversation never wavering, never forced, no awkwardness, my self-appointed duty pointing out jaywalkers along the way. We walked towards my building door for the fourth time, me recommending a film as I fumbled for my keys.

And then he kissed me. Again.**

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**To be continued in a “work in progress” prequel I started writing after 1AM last night. You know, like the Star Wars movies. FYI–my precocious muse skipped town on me, probably to some tropical paradise on my bucket list like Fiji. Waltzed into the joint like she’d never left. I decided to follow the advice of a wise English village schoolteacher, Miss Read–“Least said, soonest mended.”

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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