(I’ve been trying to figure out who my Englishman reminds me of… I couldn’t put my finger on it. Now we’ve established that it’s indeed Ed fucking Norton he will be referred to as such, henceforth, until further notice.)
So, my Englishman, who shall hence forth be known as Ed Norton, until/unless such time he pisses me off and forces me to create funny reiterations of his “name”, is adorable. I was unsure if he was actually interested for a minute because he is aloof. Not really aloof, more like stand-offish. And English. But actually, truly, very very shy.
His invitations are quite vague, I’m unsure if he’s inviting me or just telling me about the shit he’s doing without me. It took me a minute to discern his brand of indirectnesss. It’s not Portlandesque at all. Now I get him. Forever shy art school boy from a foreign land. And also Mr Boss Man.
He has, adorably, sought my advice on how to pick up women. He told me that an attractive woman smiled at him at the grocery and he wanted to know “what it meant“. It meant you’re a hot as fuck and an entirely, completely and totally non-predatory man, darling. Ask her if she knows if those melons are ripe.
I didn’t even blink when he enlisted my assistance in picking up chicks. I didn’t even realize it was funny until this morning, after remenering our exchange last night. Such is my life. That this kind of thing is super normal.
And honestly, I love it. I’m so happy to help him pick up chicks. It’s kind of hot. I don’t feel insecure that he’ll find someone way better and stop texting me dog commands. More on that later, don’t worry. But back to insecurity, I’m just not feeling it. I’m hot. I’m cool. I’m also a hot mess and uncool sometimes. But having a super fun dating/sex life has reminded me that I’m fun. I’m sexy. That there are men that like me. Like, like me like me.
So, Ed Norton, Benedict Cumberbatch (who honestly was destined to be so elusive, I mean, come on) and “Andy” from “Weeds”. Tinder has been goooooooooooood to me.