PDA with HB

Here’s the thing.  As you could probably testify from the past few entries of my Dating Diary, in past relationships I’ve harbored a secret hope that some other blonde lady would come along and snap my problem (boyfriend) off my hands to spare me the aggravation of soul stomping and breaking up.  I don’t have much time for jealousy, and usually when out in public I dislike public displays of affection—cause I’m checking out the other merchandise. 

Which is something Honey Badger and I had in common.  A shared loathing of public oogling/fondling/eye worship, etc.  Naturally this commonality thrilled me-as most mutual interests do at the beginning of a relationship.  When we had this conversation I pictured us on opposite sides of a bar waving at one another congenially but giving no real indication other than slipping out the back at the end of the night that we were together.  I was excited about not having to hold hands, be embarrassed my escort sobbing in public that we were meant to be together, or falling to his knees in the middle of some crowded place calling me a beautiful lady. 

Imagine my surprise when, out one night Honey Badger was being publically oogled.  And not by me. 

I wanted to tear that drunk skank’s hair out for trying to pick up what is (figuratively) mine. 

It was a completely foreign experience to me.  Jealousy.  So, I slunk over and laid a big old kiss, a big whooping PDA—with tongue, branding him, before glaring at said skank. 

I didn’t know what to make of it at all.

A few weeks later we were walking home from dinner when I inadvertently went to hold his hand.

 

I stopped myself and skipped on ahead, determined for us to continue to share our mutual disdain for the dreaded PDA.

He told me that I was being silly, and this one time it might be nice to hold hands.  Brain dead Jenna practically swooned.

Then on Saturday we went to a fancy French American Bistro.  He ordered beers and made me laugh, while I mocked the guy behind us in a tie who was so nervous about his date his energy was palpable 3 tables over.  We chatted.  And talked about normal stuff.  Mostly Ari and his upcoming birthday par and his upcoming birthday part (not really).

Then I offered him a taste of my (amazing) chicken.  He consented to try it, so I stabbed it with my fork and offered it to him.  Correction…I fed it to him. 

Me.  Hater of PDA’s.  Fed the Honey Badger from a fork in a romantic French restaurant. 

He looked positively uncomfortable.  The only thing that would have made it more obnoxious was if I was a cocker spaniel and he a lovable scamp of a dog sharing spaghetti on a dumpster. 

I didn’t blame him when we exited the restaurant and I was 10 feet behind him.  I figured that way we were kind of in line with my vision of slipping out the back together so no one would know that we were together, at least not the nervous guy on his date that was making fun of us feeding one another in a French dining experience while a pianist played in the corner and I could avoid being broken up with for disrespecting Honey Badger’s hatred of the PDA.

The next night Honey Badger cleverly invited me over to his place where he could avoid being publically branded as mine. It was fun.

At the end of the night, when no one was there to see, he walked me to my car and kissed me on my forehead before saying goodnight. It might not have been public, but it was a sign of affection that I felt in my toes.

I left him with a squeeze and went on my way…thinking about how differently I’ve been feeling about affection of late.