I had a good hair day

And I'll be damned if it's going to waste.

Things with New Fella have been weird all week. Not calling when he says he will, but calling and texting when I don't expect it. Especially the texting. That's new for him. He's been particularly exhausted this week. He started off tired because of the trip and watching baseball. Plus, basketball practices have started and it puts him in pain. The surface they use tears up his knees and ankles. He loves the game, though, and loves being with the kids.

I don't know if it's the exhaustion talking, but his tone has been flat with me all week. He hasn't seemed particularly glad about talking to me. Our conversations have been short and dominated by how tired he is and things that have pissed him off. Not especially pleasant. If you know me at all, you know that drives me wonky, wondering what's happening. Is it the exhaustion? Or is it me?

New Fella called me early this morning. We talked about many things that are on his mind. It's a teacher workday, so no kiddos and he can leave at a normal time. It dawns on me later that it means he's back in town early tonight. Like dinner-time early. We could have dinner tonight.

And most importantly, of course, is the fact that I'm having a Great Hair Day. Red-gold curls, falling long and perfect over my shoulders, with my new sexy-but-not-too-sexy-for-work black blouse. I'm having a gorgeous day, and I don't mind saying so because it doesn't happen that often. If he says no, then I'm calling my lesbian friend to go out to man-bash, and looking gorgeous while doing it.

So, later in the morning, I text him. "Hey, want to grab a bite to eat tonight? Maybe 5:30 or 6:00? My treat since I'm doing the asking." He doesn't like to let me do that, but it's bad form to ask a man to dinner and expect him to pay for it.

No answer. That's okay. He probably can't answer until their lunch break, anyhow.

But still no answer. FOUR HOURS later, still no answer.

So, I followed up, thinking I've stuck my foot in it but good. "...if you feel like it, I mean. Just felt like seeing you and it's not often you're around early. Was just an idea...."

That's way bad, isn't it? I know it. I knew it when I sent it. Pathetic weenie, I tell ya. But a pathetic weenie with good hair today.

I go about my business, thinking I'm having dinner at home or with a lesbian. Thinking I talk to him too much.

Two hours after my second message, he calls me. He's almost back to our town. His tone is light. His mood is light. Yes, dinner sounds good, and he sounds happy about it. We arrange to meet for dinner, at his favorite Mexican food place.

Conversation flows well. He's nursing a margarita. We talk a little about their plans for San Diego, which won't happen for another month or so. Maybe Thanksgiving or Christmas. You all are here for Christmas, I ask. Yes, they are. I tell him I will be in scenic Lubbock, Texas, by myself in a hotel. See, it's my ex's year with my kids for Christmas, but my daughter is petrified of being stranded there with her bitch stepmother, who has already expressed that she harbors "bad feelings" towards my daughter.

So, for my daughter's sake, I'm staying nearby to give her an out, should she need to get away. My ex hates it. "You will not interrupt MY time with the kids!" Sure, as long as your effing wife leaves my child alone.

With a mouthful of chips and salsa, New Fella regards me for a moment. "You're a good mother," he finally says. I look a little sheepish for a moment and say, "Yeah? Thanks."

We talk more about our kids, what's happening with them, about exes and former in-laws. He starts talking about his former brother-in-law and his failed college career. "He double majored in Photography and Radio Communications," New Fella explains. "He wanted to take pictures and be a DJ. How do you flunk out of that? I mean, he was passionate and good at both. How do you flunk out of that?"

He starts laughing and says, "That would be like me flunking out of Coaching 101 and .... and ...." he's searching here, for another topic he's "passionate" about, and finds it, "....and Hands-On Sex!"

Oh yeah?? Well, he certainly got my attention. Was it the margarita talking? Or the "cozy in bed" comment I made the day before?

He resisted slightly to giving me the check. "Hand it over," I insisted and he eventually did. We walked to our cars, which were parked beside each other. He put his leftovers in his car and shut the door, leaning back on it to look at the stars. Too much light, we agreed, standing close and gazing at the sky. The view is better from our neighborhoods, where there are few streetlights. Hey, maybe I can manage a little star-gazing getaway over the weekend. An idea to pocket for later.

He kissed me like he hasn't in weeks. Long, sweet, passionate...lingering, stroking my back. It's 40 degrees outside, but I'm a furnace.

"I'll call you when I'm on the way home tomorrow night," he says. "We can plan on doing something Saturday. Okay?"

Another, shorter, sweet kiss goodnight. And Blogget is a happy girl again. With a good payoff for good hair.