May I ask you something? If I turn THIS way, don't I look a LITTLE like a blue jay?

I had a date yesterday morning. Ok, I didn’t really plan it as a date, but after I woke up early to shower, put together a casual but cute outfit, and actually BLOW-DRIED my hair, it became readily apparent that I was preparing for a date. See where your brain can go when you are not paying attention?

Sometimes this happens when I am going on a mommy-date. This time, though, my date was a daddy-date.

W is a regular at the neighborhood coffee shop. In fact, the staff there tells me 1) that his two daughters are demon children compared to my three angelic boys. When I stopped laughing and picked myself up off the floor, they assured me this was true. I even have a note tucked into one of my notebooks which R the café manager slipped me one day when we were all there schlurping coffee at the same time that reads, “YOU think your boys are devils, but they are SO well-behaved. THOSE TWO are the ones we’re talking about!” And 2) that his children, aged three and five, STILL BREASTFEED. And they have seen this with their very own eyes, in the coffee shop. IN PUBLIC.

Stop.
Yes, I said, THREE and FIVE.
The same ages as Primo and Seg, whom I can no more imagine breastfeeding than I can our cats.
Or the neighbor’s dog.
Or H.
Ew.

I am a HUGE breastfeeding proponent, but I hold to the theory that if the child can actually ask, “Mommy, may I nurse?” and navigate your nursing bra, they are far too old to actually be doing so. Just my humble opinion. Please don’t report me to the La Leche people; I mean, Terzo is almost a year and is still nursing (but not for long! Welcome back soon, BB’s boobies!)

Anyhoo, W and I got to chatting as we dropped off our respective kindergarteners, and turns out he has multiple advanced degrees in subjects near and dear to my heart (read: books – English and comparative lit), and so while I was running off to meet SL at the coffee shop that morning, as we parted ways, he said, “That was a very interesting conversation we were having. Maybe…” and I said, “A coffee sometime? How’s Monday?” and he said, “That’d be great. See you then.” And that, as they say, was that.

I am not the hussy it superficially appears.
1) H does not read any of the same stuff I do, when he reads at all, and he certainly does not wish to discuss it. He actively encourages me to find OTHER people to blather at about this sort of thing.
2) Both my ten-month-old baby and W’s three-year-old were with us.
3) We went to get coffee at the neighborhood coffee shop, at ten in the morning; not for cocktails in some smoky bar at midnight.
4) I have known W, albeit casually, for almost a year and a half now, and when H recently observed that W “was my type,” I was surprised, as he patently IS NOT. He’s fair, and has facial hair which is disguising not much of a chin, and wears things like those slip-on sneaker-y shoes and ethnic hats. Yes, he’s smart, but honestly, he’s a POET. Those of you who know me – and probably most of you who don’t – can already hear me snarling, “Oh, for God’s sake, another poem? Jesus Christ! Can’t you write a nice book or something?”

But a date – was nice. And yes, I paid for my own coffee.

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I spent my lunch hour curled on one of the manky couches in the student union, sipping chai and reading Water for Elephants. I am enjoying it very much. It’s fresh and interesting, and except for that unfortunate title (Does anyone else find themselves wanting to call it Like Water for Elephants, or is it just me?) it is a surprisingly well-written book. Oh, how cynical I am – if a book is on the New York Times bestsellers lists, and hoi polloi are gobbling it off the shelves, I automatically assume it’s dreadfully and poorly written. Such arrogance. But this is a good book, so far. And I could easily fall in love with the main character – Jacob is wry and witty and sweet and even as an irascible old man very entertaining.

Next up, H has insisted I read Terry Pratchett’s The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents, which he just finished in record (for him) time. I suppose he’ll want to discuss it too. Well, he can take me out on a date, but *he’d* better pay for my coffee.