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Sunday, April 27, 2008
It really is a small world.
9:41 PM | 
Posted by
Christine
I took A into the city today. We went to the hospital to visit E (who looks better than his wife at this point, which is another story unto itself), had a nice lunch, and then went to the Merchandise Mart to see the Artropolis Chicago exhibit. Since I'd gotten free tickets anyway, I thought it was something I couldn't pass up. He needs to be exposed to such things.
Since it was an artsy thing, I wore my favorite BCBG dress. It's the coolest item of clothing I own, and if I may say so, I look pretty good in it. And it shows off almost more cleavage than is legal. So I felt great, and had a fabulous time following my 'date' around the various exhibits.
As we stepped onto the elevator on our way out, our blissful little bubble was broken as the man next to me started swearing loudly at his (I can only assume) partner. "Don't you fucking start with me, you piece of shit. Don't start."
The elevator was crammed, and A and I were crowded against the door. I tucked him behind me a bit. The partner giggled, rather insolently, it seemed.
He became louder, and more vehement. "I told you, this is fucking bullshit. I'll fucking end this right here, you fuck."
A man in the opposite corner of the elevator said quietly, "Why don't you just take the drama somewhere else?" It was a ballsy move. I looked up.
And my jaw fell open.
"Dean." I said, almost reflexively.
The angry guy kept getting angrier. Dean, whom I have not seen in almost two years, looked at me. It took a second, maybe two, before recognition crossed his face. Then his eyes widened.
"Well, hello."
The woman at his side turned quickly to zero in on me. I suddenly felt foolish, and hoped to look as innocuous as possible standing there with my eleven year-old son.
The elevator stopped, and I held A against the wall to let the angry guy and his still-snickering partner off first. Then I stepped to the side and waited.
Dean and his lady friend walked out behind us. We introduced our companions, and I gave him a hug.
"You look great," I said. It was the truth.
He and I had dated several years ago. Truly, he is one of the most wonderful men I have ever known - he is sweet, intelligent, funny, artistic, and strong. He called me "princess", and told me that he loved me. He exposed me to a side of Chicago I'd never seen before, and treated me like the most beautiful woman on earth.
But.
but.
In spite of the lavish gifts and the fancy dinners, the nights on the town and the incredible social circles, the hand at the small of my back and the doors opening before I ever had a chance to touch them, I could not stay there. For his sake (and mine), I had to leave.
Because a girl simply can not date a sweet, wealthy man over 25 years her senior without creating a label of "sugar daddy".
He deserves better than that, and so do I.
But it was wonderful to see him. He and his lady friend looked so very happy together. I sincerely hope they are.
Because he deserves that.
He looked great.
Since it was an artsy thing, I wore my favorite BCBG dress. It's the coolest item of clothing I own, and if I may say so, I look pretty good in it. And it shows off almost more cleavage than is legal. So I felt great, and had a fabulous time following my 'date' around the various exhibits.
As we stepped onto the elevator on our way out, our blissful little bubble was broken as the man next to me started swearing loudly at his (I can only assume) partner. "Don't you fucking start with me, you piece of shit. Don't start."
The elevator was crammed, and A and I were crowded against the door. I tucked him behind me a bit. The partner giggled, rather insolently, it seemed.
He became louder, and more vehement. "I told you, this is fucking bullshit. I'll fucking end this right here, you fuck."
A man in the opposite corner of the elevator said quietly, "Why don't you just take the drama somewhere else?" It was a ballsy move. I looked up.
And my jaw fell open.
"Dean." I said, almost reflexively.
The angry guy kept getting angrier. Dean, whom I have not seen in almost two years, looked at me. It took a second, maybe two, before recognition crossed his face. Then his eyes widened.
"Well, hello."
The woman at his side turned quickly to zero in on me. I suddenly felt foolish, and hoped to look as innocuous as possible standing there with my eleven year-old son.
The elevator stopped, and I held A against the wall to let the angry guy and his still-snickering partner off first. Then I stepped to the side and waited.
Dean and his lady friend walked out behind us. We introduced our companions, and I gave him a hug.
"You look great," I said. It was the truth.
He and I had dated several years ago. Truly, he is one of the most wonderful men I have ever known - he is sweet, intelligent, funny, artistic, and strong. He called me "princess", and told me that he loved me. He exposed me to a side of Chicago I'd never seen before, and treated me like the most beautiful woman on earth.
But.
but.
In spite of the lavish gifts and the fancy dinners, the nights on the town and the incredible social circles, the hand at the small of my back and the doors opening before I ever had a chance to touch them, I could not stay there. For his sake (and mine), I had to leave.
Because a girl simply can not date a sweet, wealthy man over 25 years her senior without creating a label of "sugar daddy".
He deserves better than that, and so do I.
But it was wonderful to see him. He and his lady friend looked so very happy together. I sincerely hope they are.
Because he deserves that.
He looked great.
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