I am sure anyone who knows me (Desi Brother, Meera, Rohit, Tate, Ainsley, Siobhan, Haynes Thomas Taylor) will find it hard to believe, but Possible-Mate-From-Chicago did most of the talking today. Mostly because I was having an over-thinking debate with myself, wondering if I should ask Possible-Mate-From-Chicago follow-up questions to the questions he asked: So you really don’t miss Minnesota? All this noise and bustle and jay-walking and dodging taxis and doesn’t give you anxiety? And you would never go back to Minnesota?
Not necessarily ask, “do you expect me to move to suburban Chicago” or “where is this going” because we have only met three times. But how long is a reasonable amount of time to date someone (or whatever the hell this is) before asking where is this "relationship" going? I mean, shouldn’t this be a two-way street? I don’t want to be aggressive, but it is not like we can stay in slow motion for two years.
I sometimes think my over-arching problem with desi men is that I am too assertive and comfortable in my own space. A little too Durga, alone, riding my lion and slaying my way through life. I just don’t know if I can be less assertive, more passive like Sita who follows her husband Ram into the forest; and while in the forest she gets kidnapped to Sri Lanka by Ravenna; to be saved by her husband; to finally go back home, to their kingdom; only to have the people wonder about her purity while held captive by Ravenna; to walk through fire to prove she was faithful to Ram; to get banished by Ram anyway; and finally to get swallowed back up by the earth.
“Hello?” Possible-Mate-From-Chicago says. Oh shit. He must have stopped talking and asked me something while we were waiting in line to buy theatre tickets. “Ah, yea?” I ask. There is no graceful way to save face, so I reply, “I spaced." “Clearly,” he says and laughs.“What do you want to see?” he asks and shifts his weight. “Are you okay?” I ask. “My leg is doing something funny. I fell on my knee in volleyball and it has not been quite right for a few weeks,” he explains.
“What did the doctor say?” I ask. “Ice, physical therapy and no volleyball. I listened to two out of the three, but come on, I am the captain, I have to show up and play,” he says. I laugh. I understand. It is not like Haynes Thomas and I cannot show up to volunteer meetings that we are running. “Any interest in seeing Rock of Ages?” he asks. “It features songs by Journey, Whitesnake, Styx and Bon Jovi,” he suggests. Oh dear, do I look like the kind of girl who listened to rock in the 80s? The look of “no thanks” must flash across my face because he is chuckling. “Or not…” he says. “I was thinking Jane Fonda in 33 Variations…” I reply. “Of course you were…” he replies. “That is fine too.”