Dutch and I walked into the pub near my apartment (I can’t tell you how great it is to live 2 blocks from one of the best Irish pubs in the Twin Cities).
We sat down opposite each other with our backs to the wall and our feet hanging over the front edge into the aisle. (This was our regular people watching pose.) I looked back and forth at the variety of butts sitting on the stools in front of us at the bar.
“Hey Dutch, I think I can see that chick’s butt crack.”
He leaned over and looked, “Yeah, just a little bit… cool.”
Our discussion this night varied in many respects, but it primarily focused on whether or not I should post my next blog about “40 Year Old”. I ended things with him earlier this week. (Permanently in my mind.) I said goodbye and good luck. It’s a drama filled blog about our final encounter.
I had already talked to "Bridget" about it. She thinks I need to post it and bring some closure the matter. She thinks I’ve been protecting “40 Year Old” to some extent… that I haven’t showed my friends, family and fellow bloggers what a jerk he is. But, "Bridget" has never met him. Her opinion is based solely on what I’ve vented to her about. In fact, I’ve never introduced him to any of my friends.
"Austin HP", agrees and thinks it will help me move on and forget him. But, he said he would understand if the subject matter was too personal to share with everyone. (Hhhmmm, but there’s something to be said about the power of confession.)
Tonight, I’m talking to “Dutch” about it. These were his thoughts:
“Don’t post it! You’re going to see him again, because you always do. By posting a final conclusion to the “40 Year Old” saga, you are setting yourself up for major criticism from everyone. Because, you and I both know that the next time he’s in town you will go out with him. Don’t do it!”
“I think I’m going to do it!" ("Dutch" rolled his eyes) "But, don’t worry Dutch… I’m going to wait a few days until my hormones calm down and then I’ll be able to think and write more clearly.”
“Dutch” shrugged off my decision, “Honestly Jane, I don’t care… I don’t read your blog anyway. Why should I when I can hear it directly from the horse’s mouth? I only read it when you tell me that you mentioned me in it.”
(Neigh…Neigh... Clippidy Clop) “Dutch” is still bitter about how I described him in the blog entry “Off the Hook”. This was his comment:
“Jane, I wasn’t even sitting on a stool, you made me sound like a complete idiot by making me fall off of it when you said, “Off the Hook”… you aren’t that funny… you’re entertaining… but you aren’t that funny!"
"Dutch" and I sat at the bar until 1:00 a.m. (on a school night no less) I was perfectly content to keep sitting there, but Dutch made me leave when Oasis’ Wonderwall started playing on the overhead.
“Today is gonna be the day, when I’m… blah blah blah blah blah blah blah…” I couldn’t remember the words exactly. But, I sang them anyway.
“Jane, get up, we’re leaving now!”
“Dutch, I want to finish singing the song. They haven’t gotten to the chorus yet. I love this song.” (I was singing it just loud enough for the people around us to enjoy it.)
“Jane, I’ll leave you here and you’ll have to walk home if you don’t leave with me now.” (the two blocks to home weren’t scaring me… his threats were idle.) “Listen, It’s not that you don’t have a nice voice. I just don’t want to listen to it.”
I looked at him and said, “Okay.” (He had a valid point.) I let him drive me home and I went to bed.
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