If Only I Could Clone Myself

I saw a bad pun about cloning. One guys says, “I don’t really get it, cloning.” The other guy says, “That makes two of us.”

Some days I wish I could clone myself to get all my stuff done. And I’m retired!  Sort of. I still write for fun and money.   By the time I’ve posted a blog post, gone to my exercise class, visited my sister, walked my two dogs (separately), eaten lunch, and called the Latina neighbor to verify that the Spanish changes my editor wants are incorrect, it’s 3:00 p.m., and my girlfriend wonders why I haven’t called her back.

To be fair, I did text her. I have another friend who calls when she is driving and wants to chit chat. I don’t pick up, because I don’t have time to chit chat right then and there. Once she called on a Saturday morning at 8:00 a.m. DID. NOT. PICK. UP.

I love my friends and can shoot a text or send an email while I am keeping my sis company for an hour or so.  I can even respond if I arrive at my class a little early.  Phone calls, no.  I have OCD. I embrace the structure in my day. Phone calls do not fit the schedule.

Last night I met a sweet man while out dancing.  He is interested in a big way.  Aside from the fact that he is older, once divorced and once widowed, I am reluctant to call him up. I have his number.  He is moving to Monterey County. He likes to dance.

Okay, okay, he looks good on paper.  But where would he fit into my life right now?  I am sure that if there had been a mutual attraction that happened organically, none of that would matter. But it was not like that. My girlfriend dragged him over to meet me when she heard “moving to Monterey.”  As he and I slow danced, I felt as though he was on a job interview trying to say the right things.

It was my second night in a row of dancing, and my back hurt. He was holding my hand too sweetly against his chest.

“I have to go,” I said. “My back is killing me.”

“I dance through the pain,” he said.

You are coming on too strong, bud. That’s what I really wanted to say.  You might be the nicest man in the world, and maybe I will grow to love you, but you are laying it all on the line within the first hour of meeting you.

I think of the guys I missed out on because I didn’t act fast enough. Or because I missed the signals. The guys were waiting for me to give them a sign. One had too scary of a tattoo. One said,” Stay right there. I’ll be right back.” And I didn’t. I went off to dance with someone else. Another one asked me to his neighborhood bar, fifteen miles up the road, and I said no. I needed to go home.

Those three guys are now taken. Whenever I see them with their women, I think, I screwed up.

I don’t know that I will ever feel that way about this new-dancing-moving-to-Monterey guy.  Maybe.

Maybe not.

I will put his number into my phone, just in case. I would send him a text, but he said to call. I am not ready to call.

If I could clone myself, I could have the OCD me to take care of everything and have the fun me to go out with older men from Monterey to see if I am interested.

The dilemma of a lifetime? No, but certainly the dilemma of the week.

Couldda Wouldda Didda

I put his number into my phone, but I haven’t called yet. It doesn’t fit into my schedule right now.

 

 

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