Dear Tom Selleck . . .
I'm a lot of things, but I'll be the first to admit that I am FAR from perfect. Shocking. I know. Mostly shocking that I admitted it - and in print no less for the world to see. Print that out and make a big fancy Hollywood billboard out of it.
While the LDB saga continues, another blast from my past has emerged and I need some advice. I thought with you trying to perfect your role as my dad and being a man and all that I'd run this past you.
It all started about 15 years ago.
*cue squiggly screen flashback*
I had first noticed him from afar at a company golf outing. He was sporting knickers and knee socks. No joke. I was in love. He even wore saddle shoes and a newsboy hat. Does it get any better than that? No Tom, I don't think it does.
I was newly single and a coworker set us up. It wasn't until we went out and I was up close and personal with him that I noticed it. How couldn't I? It was HUGE! I was starting to have visions of the end of the evening and was terrified. How would I ever let something that big touch my face? Let alone other parts of me. I was freaked out. All I could do at dinner was stare at it. It stared back. It was alive.
We went for drinks and I swear it looked like it had grown. I couldn't take my eyes off of it as it appeared to dance. As the night drew to a close, I was panicking on the inside. How was I going to handle this situation? I had never been in such a predicament.
So I just laughed. In his face. As he leaned in to kiss me goodnight. And then I did that awful 'draw my head back like a llama about to spit' move. I'm such a lady.
But I had never kissed a guy with a mustache before. Ever. And this one was HUGE!
(Has that ever happened to you?)
I had a strict 'no facial hair' policy. But he was so cute. And charming. And funny. And smart. And did I mention he sails and plays guitar?
So that's how it started. It's never been serious. Whenever it's gotten close, one of us has freaked out and then we lose touch and reconvene later like nothing had ever happened. One time that lasted 10 years.
We live many states away now, but the last couple of summers he's spent about a week with me. It's always the most glorious week of my year. And not for reasons one may think. It's because it's so (dare I say) normal. He fits. Perfectly. Loves my girls, my friends, my town, my life. We don't do a damn thing but cook, play games, drink, watch movies, talk for hours, and hang out with whomever ends up on the porch or in the backyard.
It's great. He's great. We're great together.
But last summer I freaked the fuck out.
Because I'm a girl, that's why. While I was doing dishes and he was chilling with my girls and it was all so wonderful and normal . . . I lost it.
Unfortunately he came into the kitchen. Things began to spin quickly out of control and went from tears to anger to him leaving and then coming back. There was a lot of talking and I tried to explain that I was just freaked out (and maybe a little tipsy and probably getting my period and there was likely a full moon). He tried to get it, but didn't. And I know he didn't forget it. Me freaking out caused him to freak out and I hate to say it Mr. Selleck but . . . a freaked out guy is 100 times worse than a freaked out girl.
When he left the following day, things were weird and I later sent him an 'I quit you' email. Because I'm also mature like that, that's why.
*cue squiggly screen back to the present*
We have recently reconvened. Now what?!
Do I invite him to a freak-out-free, fabulous week of normal this summer? Enjoy it for what it is? Push for more? Forget about it? Hope he's forgotten about my meltdown and the 'I quit you' email?
Oh Tom! What's a girl to do? I like him. A lot. But he scares the shit out of me.
Edie B. Kuhl