Dabbling in Playahood, yo diggity.

I just got back from another first date. First of all, this makes me feel like a player. And I can hear Susan saying I am not one that dating a few guys at once is actually probably a wise move, but I can't stop that feeling that I am. Mostly I suffer from guilt complexes. I think it's the culmination of the Catholic and Jewish mix that is me - a guilty guilty girl.

Anyway, today's date was with The Schoolboy. For the record, he is NOT a school boy; he is my age. He once called himself a school boy though and I can't think of a better nickname for him at the moment.

We met on Chapel Street. While I was waiting for him to arrive, two girls walked by and one said to the other with a touch of the indignant and a chip on her shoulder "I am like 10 years younger than he is, how dare he blow me off!" I laughed out loud. Yes, how dare he not be interested in you! I am shocked and appalled by his audacity - to not like you, you gold digger, trophy wife wannabe, nitwit.

Anyway, The Schoolboy and I enjoyed a cup of coffee hot chocolate and three hours of conversation. I spent a fair amount of that time watching his blue eyes and wanting to run my fingers through his hair. Do you ever get those weird impulses? Like sometimes it's rubbing someone's belly on the tram or fixing someone's collar -- not that I ever act on any of these impulses. I'm weird, but not crazy! Jeesh. But with The Schoolboy, his hair just looked soft and was begging to be ruffled.

At first I thought it was going to be horrible, that he wasn't going to assist me in making conversation and leave all the work up to me. And I cannot stand for that. But soon we were swapping stories about sport and footy. We talked about fashion (headbands on men are not ok - we agree). We talked about weird rules that we have (he only watches R or G movies for example. I, well, you all know my rules and regulations).

Seriously though, I want to play with his hair.