Heavy Petting

Preston. I’ve written about him before on this blog. I kind of liked him, but for the wrong reasons. He was funny – but not in a good way. Every time I went out with him, I came home wondering if I'd been on a date. I'd have to sit down on the couch and reason it out.

Evidence for:

• picked me up
• told me I looked great
• opened doors, pulled out my chair
• paid for everything
• walked me to the door

Sounds like a date, right? I have plenty of guy friends, but they draw the line at pulling out my chair and paying for everything. Once in a while they pay for dinner, but only because I'm a single mom. And dates with Preston were expensive – dinner, wine, theatre, cabs. The works.

So it seemed like a date. But every time he dropped me off, I had a consistent, nagging "what the hell was that?" feeling.

Evidence against:

• never came near me. I swear.
• talked on his cell phone constantly while in the car and in restaurants.
• took me to crowded and noisy places. It was impossible to talk or ask questions, such as “is this a date?”.

I started thinking Preston was gay.

Evidence for:

• overly attached to feline friends (see below).
• referred to people he used to date as "this person I was seeing."
• never touched me. I swear.
• recoiled from holding hands like he was Superman and I was Kryptonite.
• liked show tunes.

Evidence against:

• none.

He started talking to me about the cat. She was sick and it seemed serious. He called a lot, sometimes late at night. I think he even sobbed a few times about the cat. He was making me nervous. Now I felt trapped.

I resolved to wait until after cat died to put some distance between us. Once I got the cat funeral pictures, I had to wait even longer - I didn't want him to think I was breaking up with him because he sent me weird dead cat pictures. Even though I was. I totally was. And also the fact that he was semi-gay.

When I told him that the relationship wasn't working for me, he was miffed. He brought up the possibility of a committed friendship. Whatever that is. We exchanged a few emails, but he moved on.


Preston and Sophie


The plot and the burial

Sophie, in happier days



R.I.P.