In which I go out with the train guy and am soooo bored but he does not appear to be bored at all

Y'all, I am not going to write too much about Kip, the cute train guy, because 1. he is such a nice guy and I don't want to appear to be mocking him and 2. I don't remember much about what happened. If only I had been a blogger back then. I would have archives.

After I had been riding the train for a few weeks, I started to recognize the other passengers. A lot of us read on the trip and would talk about and exchange books. Then there were the two recovering heroin addicts who had met in their 12-step program or treatment center or wherever and were conducting the clothed part of their affair (they were both married, but not to each other) on the ride to work every morning. Good thing there were frequent traffic accidents and suicides that extended the trip, right? More time for looove.

I noticed Kip waiting for the train at my stop. He got on at Ft Lauderdale and got off where I did, in west Boca. He was very cute. He still is. I google-stalked him (oh like you don't*). He has aged well, which is fine. It's only the men who were jerks to me that I want to see looking like Keith Richards on a bad day.

I don't remember who spoke to whom first, but maybe I was in one of my sensible "let them come to you" phases. I seem to have had far less heartache when the guy pursued me rather than when I pursued him. Maybe he first spoke to me about the violin I brought to work every Wednesday. I was taking violin lessons and didn't want to leave the violin in the car all day in the heat while I was at work. I wasn't worried about it being stolen because car thieves in Miami were not known for their interest in classical music and it's not like there is a big market for hot violins. That I know of.

He asked me out.

I said yes.

Why wouldn't I? Cute guy, employed, educated. I am easy.

He said he would take the train from Ft Lauderdale to Miami, then connect to the metrarail or whatever is was called, because why drive when you have a train pass?

I asked if I should pick him up at the station, which was about a mile from my house, and he said no. He would walk.

OK. A man willing to walk a mile just to see me?

I was flattered.

He arrived early so he could repair my washer. I am putty in the hands of a man who can repair my major appliances. It took him only half an hour, then what to do?

He deserved some kind of payment.

So we made out.

Not my proudest moment.

Not unlike my first kiss when I was in second grade. A boy on the playground wanted to kiss me and I told him no, but then he offered me a piece of gum, so I said yes. I was a little Double Bubble hooker.

Then we went to supper in Cocowalk, where he talked and I listened and thought, He is so cute but I am so uninterested in what he has to say and he doesn't seem to be interested in what I think, so why are we here?

But he asked me out again and again and again. And sat by me on the train. And sent me emails and called me at work. And invited me to his office to have lunch at his company cafeteria and meet his friends.

Primo suggests that even though I was bored with him, Kip might not have been bored with me.

I can't imagine how Kip would have found me not boring considering all I did was listen to him talk.

But maybe that's all he wanted.

After a few weeks, I decided that Kip needed to be free.

But I think he might have broken up with me. I can't remember.

Whatever it was, it wasn't acrimonious because every year or so, I would get an email from him. He married the next woman he dated (that happened to me a lot: I was the prep girlfriend) and had a baby.

I went on to date Yves, the guy who sent me the e-card for my birthday. Oh yes I can pick them.





* I just looked up Cindy C, who was the prissy first chair violin when I was in orchestra in junior high. Her mother drove her to school, so Cindy could take her violin home and practice every day. I rode my bike to school, which meant moving a violin was more challenging. I would like to point out that even though she practiced a lot more than I did, we split first chair most of the year. Ha.

She wore even dorkier underwear than I did, so I had someone to feel superior to in gym. Elaine down the street wore lacy underpants with a matching bra and she had the figure for it. Cindy and I were in waist-high, flowered underpants in 7th grade, but by 8th grade, I knew to insist at least on bikini underwear. I don't even have lacy underpants now. Just not practical or comfortable. But Cindy stayed in her waist-high undies and undershirts! Not even a training bra, but an undershirt with a little bow at the bosom. Poor Cindy. Her mother was clueless.

She is now a flight attendant, which is about the last job I would have put her in, but man, I hope I'm a little more socially adept than I was in 7th grade. The question: should I friend her? I was not kind to her when we were in school. But it was all behind her back. Mostly.