Unconvinced of his romantic potential, I invited him over for soup, less a date than a get-together with an old friend.
From the moment he walked in, I felt like he'd been sitting in my living room forever.
I was convinced I'd found my ideal man: intellectual, witty, artistic, and .
We spent a passionate week together, and when I left town, I thought I was leaving behind a new long-distance boyfriend—one who, it turned out, didn't like to call or e-mail..
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I gave him a long list of all the ways he wasn't interesting enough: He was always even-tempered. I hadn't planned on it—inexperienced as I was with intimacy, I thought I was just airing my feelings. I didn't know what I would do without his hugs and gap-toothed smile.
He didn't come up with crazy ideas, asking me, as other men had, to take off for Argentina, ride the roller coaster in Santa Cruz, or swallow vision-inducing drugs with a shaman in the Amazon. "No," I mumbled, embarrassed and worried that he was going to flee. "Just because I'm not an asshole doesn't mean I'm boring," he said"You need to figure out the difference."Now that was interesting.
Without that, the romance seemed to lose a certain thrill.
One evening, after one too many drinks, some demon took over my brain and I con- fessed that I thought he was too boring for me.
Surprisingly, given how kind he was, I didn't want to stop kissing him.
The next day, he called to ask when he could see me again—unusual behavior, considering the guys I'd dated.
On our second date, we had a quiet dinner at a bistro.