An Evening with The Mathematician

      Update 7 PM: NOOOOOOOO!  I LEFT MY BRIEFCASE IN MY LOCKER AT THE TUTORING CENTER!

       I have another laptop case I could use, but it has the name of my university on it.  He doesn’t know which school I’m at, and if he’s a client, I don’t WANT him to know.  

        This is bad, man.  This entire thing is a bad idea.  He is a nice normal #1 Dad math Ph.D. with a dorky country-club hairdo.  My life is too weird for this person.                 

      I just called V. for advice.  

      “You have to take a risk.  You saw this coming; it just happened earlier than you anticipated.”

       Well, I’m jumping in the shower and then I’m going to go.  The worst I can be is wrong.  
              *                        *                    *                      *
Update 6 PM: Oh, FML. 

      Mathematician sends me a text today at noon: “Looks like I have to work early on Saturday, so I’m around this evening.  Margaritas tonight?”

        How am I to interpret this?  After some hemming and hawing, I decide There is nothing questionable about this man’s ability to communicate.  If he wanted to set up a business appointment, he would ask for a business appointment.  He asked for drinks.  That is a date.      

        I texted back:  Happy to make it a date!  I’m free after 8.  Where shall we meet? 

        He replies: We’re at a different hotel in (neighborhood).  8:30 or so?  

        What the hell am I supposed to make out of that?!  No helpful information there!  Is this a date or not?  Do I bring my bag of stuff, or not?  If it is a date, and I show up with my bag, he’s going to be confused and hurt.  If it’s not a date, and I don’t show up with my bag, then we’re both going to be embarrassed.  I mean, talk about awkward!  

        What am I going to do…?  I can dodge the margaritas, say I’m giving blood tomorrow morning or something.  But what do I do about the rest of it?   

        I ran the situation by my friend, V.  

       She said, “You’ve got to talk to him about it.  He is sitting at work thinking and worrying about this just as much as you are.  You can’t pretend that it just never happened.”  

         AWKWARD CONVERSATION! barf barf barf barf

        The safe thing to do is to pack my shit into my slim leather briefcase and put some files on top of it. It’ll look like I’m carrying around documents.  He won’t know what’s in the bag.  That way, I can modify my approach based upon the information I get when I see him again.     

         What. Am I. Supposed to Do. 

                 *                            *                        *                    * 

Woah.  Better sit down for this one, friends and neighbors: I just got home from spending the night with a man.


       Remember the Mathematician I discussed in an earlier post?  It was him.  

       He contacted me yesterday and asked to see me.  I guess he’d finally finished a huge project at work and wanted to celebrate.  So after work, I took a shower and fixed myself up and headed back out.  

       His company had put him and his colleagues up in a pretty swank hotel close to Grand Central Station.  

       We stayed up till pretty late.  I slept in bed with him and he held me close all night.  He sort of laid on me.  He was warm like a water bottle.  He is a tall man, and wrapped around me easily. 

       This morning, when I woke up, I was confused. I’m still confused.  When he jumped in the shower, I got dressed and then opened the closet and briefly touched his clothes.  The suit coat, the shirts, neat on their hangers.  He had a bag that said “#1 DAD” on it.  He has an Ex and a kid.

       He left all of his stuff out while he was in the bathroom.  His wallet, his expensive camera.  He trusted me with it.  I’m not a thief, but he doesn’t know that.  

The scene of the crime. 



       We didn’t have sex.  We fooled around at little, but no sex.  

       I was paid for it.  He paid my fee last night, at the beginning. 

       He put me in a cab and took off for work.  He wants to see me again tonight if he stays in the same hotel.  

Margo’s Bag o’ Swag, in taxi at 7 AM.

       Don’t know.  Confused.  I don’t know what I think.  


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