And yes, I am entirely aware that I ended the title of this post with a preposition, but you can all put on your big-girl panties and deal with it. Or, you know, your big-boy BVDs, if you're a fella. Or boxers, if that's your preference.
The last post I wrote wasn't supposed to get into the realm of I'm-going-to-eat-broth-and-sauerkraut-for-months so much. I'm going to claim, for the record, that the sauerkraut hi-jacked the post.
Sauerkraut has a tendency to do that, you know.
The last post was really supposed to be about the current Gentleman Caller.
*record scratch* *Kid'N'Play make funny faces at the camera*
How did I intend to get from my insane food intolerances to the Gentleman Caller?
It's a somewhat circuitous route.
We've been dating for... a few months? Maybe three months? Or four of them?
I'm not really sure, because I'm terrible with dates. With the exception of immediate family, I would not remember any of my friends' birthdays without Facebook, sad to say. And when it comes to anniversaries, I'm hopeless (except for my parents' and my sister's and BIL's).
So, a while. We've been dating for a while.
And we almost didn't start, because THIS GAL had to reschedule the first two dates due to migraines. When he seemed okay with rescheduling, I realized that either:
1) He was desperate for a date
2) I am AMAZING.
I've decided to go with option "2" (and he encouraged me to think as much when I brought it up teasingly the other day).
Granted, we had spoken on the phone multiple times - and at length - before we were supposed to go on our dates. I could very well have seen him deciding that maybe I'd changed my mind and abandoning the whole idea of going out with me, though, rather than continuing to reschedule dates.
And, yeah, I've had to reschedule some since that time, too, because migraines - like s**t - happen.
Here's the thing: we most often go out to eat for our dates, and that can be tricky for me. I have yet to have to come up with a location for a date, though, because he always checks the restaurants' menus to make sure there are gluten-free choices for me. And if there aren't any explicitly gluten-free options for me, he calls the restaurant to see what they have.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but that seems to me to be a sign of someone who might be worth keeping around for a while.
And that's how my last post about diet-craziness was supposed to segue into a discussion of the current Gentleman Caller. Because I told him about the crazy diet I'm starting in January, and that I'll probably be even more restricted as to what I can eat, for a while, and his response was: "I guess I'd better get used to eating broth, then. That, and hiding hamburgers in my pockets."
Sounds like a pretty good attitude to take, if you ask me.