It’s official. Reed emailed me back Thursday afternoon and I booked the flight that evening. So in 3 weeks I will be flying 6,000 miles to meet a guy from Tinder I’ve been talking to for a month. LOL! Yes, I am probably insane. But you only live once, right?
I can already envision myself in 3 years or so, out with Carly, still single, lamenting my descent into my late-30s by downing several shots of Fireball: “Hey, remember that time I flew to Japan to meet that guy?”
When it was finally time to pull the trigger, I did waver back and forth a little bit. It is definitely not a cheap flight, and while it won’t exactly send me into financial ruin, there are probably way better things I could’ve allocated such a pretty sum of money to. But when the lowest ticket price went up $88.00 even in the midst of me exploring my options, I just said, What the hell, and did it.
I explored hotels preliminarily, but there are tons of options and a lot of them looked to be ridiculously cheap so I wasn’t pressed to rush into booking anything before delving into some more serious research when I had the time. I mentioned it to Reed and he wrote back on Saturday and offered up his place. He even said that he could provide a separate bed if I wanted it. I thought that was pretty thoughtful of him, but good and bad in some ways. It’s good because it kind of legitimizes him a bit more. He clearly has nothing to hide if he’s willing to let me encroach on his space. It’s bad because we will be getting up close and personal very quickly. He’s going to see me in all my glamorous glory and then eventually when all the makeup comes off as well. Yikes. Too much, too soon? We will see. I should probably make a reservation somewhere as a back up in any case, just to be on the safe side.
It’s funny, thinking back to the night I first conversed with him over Tinder, when he told me where he was stationed. I was being flirty/facetious and told him I just might come over there to see him if he plays his cards right. He, facetiously (I assume), welcomed the idea. All just fun and games…until it actually ends up coming to fruition. Funny how that works.
I am nervous, of course. What if I get there and it turns out there’s no chemistry? (I doubt that, though.) What if I get there and he stands me up and I end up stranded alone in a foreign country? That’s scary to think about. I don’t think it will happen, but you never know. Getting stood up 20 minutes from my house and getting stood up on the other side of the world are two completely different ballgames.
I’m pretty confident in this idea though, as maniacal as it seems. If there were any red flags whatsoever, I wouldn’t be doing it. There have literally been none. I have no reservations whatsoever. He’s never given me any reason to have any, so I’m just going with it.
So…3 weeks to get myself Japan ready. Which was mostly going to entail keeping up with the gym so as to look as toned as possible. After 3 days in Virginia Beach with Carly drinking and eating with reckless abandon, I was definitely looking forward to hitting the gym this morning. I had just gotten out of her car and was walking to my door with my suitcase when I somehow I lost my footing on my front steps and fell into my front yard. Besides being mortified (but I don’t think there were many people out, thank goodness), I’m pretty sure I sprained my left foot. The top of it is swollen and tender and I can’t put any weight on it. So now I’m hoping that whatever is wrong A) Doesn’t take the whole 3 weeks to heal so that I can get my workout on at some point, and B) Is definitely over and done with by the time it’s time to leave for Japan.
It figures I’d spend 3 nights in Virginia Beach wandering around inebriated for most of the time and make it out unscathed, then injure myself literally at my front door. Ugh.
Reed seems to be just as excited as I am. Our emails to each other are pretty wordy and he has been throwing out ideas for things we can do left and right, so he seems to be really into it.
Hopefully this does not turn out to be a huge mistake. But if so, I’m sure I’ll be able to laugh about it in a few years. Like 5.