Ring, Ring

Please don't pick up. Please don't pick up. Please don't pick up.

I am silently praying that the phone will continue ringing and no one will answer on the other end. It has taken all my will power to make the stupid phone call in the first place and dumb as it might sound, I am not entirely convinced that I've actually worked up the courage to *talk* to Kit.

Each ring is a momentary reassurance that there is no one on the other end. That this amazing man I've been emailing and texting doesn't actually exist. That there is some computer somewhere, probably programmed by my sisters and friends, that writes back to my message with the exact answers I want to hear. This computer knows all my favorite things, gives all the right feedback, and has wonderfully flirtatious overtones. You know the guys who invented the Jeopardy computer to beat Ken Jennings? They'd have tough competition with how great my friends and family did building a computer to date me. Move over, Watson. There's a new super genius in town and his name is Kit!

My reasoning is that if no one answers the phone than Kit isn't real. He's still a figment of my overactive imagination. Frankly, after dating 92 losers last year, I'm not at all prepared for how fantastically well this new romance is going. You'd think I'd welcome an awesome guy to go out with. One who doesn't pick his nose or oppose root vegetables or fantasize about science fiction females. Yet you'd be wrong. I am positively petrified of falling for him, which seems to be the way this is going. If he's a loser, he's easy to brush off. No hurt feelings. No genuine consequences. If he's really as good as he's appeared so far, he has the power to break my heart. And there is no way I'll survive that again.

It is so much easier not putting myself out there. So easy to just let go, sit back, and wait for love to find me, all the while subconsciously pushing it away. It's easy *not* opening yourself up to the possibility that there are good men out there, good relationships, partners who don't leave you in tears at the end of every day. I just haven't had one yet, thus Fear creeps in. Fortunately, my good friends Hope and Faith sit patiently on my shoulders just waiting for me to gain enough strength, enough momentum, enough confidence to tell Fear to fuck off.

The ringing stops and the voicemail clicks on. He hasn't recorded a personal greeting so I listen to the standard alien woman urging you to leave a message after the tone. And I do. Deep breath in, deep breath out, record the perfect thirty second voice message. It's fun, it's cute, it's flirty, it's cheerful, it's upbeat, it could not have gone any better. I am smiling the entire time (because people can hear when you're smiling on the phone) and I hang up thanking God I was able to stave off *actual* contact for another day. Phew. Huge sigh of relief.

My phone is ringing. It's him. Shit.

I can't not answer it. I can't. Can I? I mean, I just called him. He knows I called him. He saw the missed call. But he didn't have time to listen to my vm. Which means he has no idea how adorably sexy I am. He hasn't heard my voice. He is heading into this as blind as I just did. He's probably shaking in his boots like I just was. Do I let him leave a message? Do I torture him and wait it out for a few more rings? Make him think I won't pick up then answer at the last minute?

Holy crap, Kimberly - just pick up the fucking phone already!!!

I know, I know, there was a LOT of hemming and hawing away at that decision. I get it. I would've smacked myself upside the head too if I could've. And I will admit that the first few sentences were a little awkward, a little uncomfortable, a little political. Fast forward a minute or two later and we were laughing and joking and talking and teasing each other like old friends. What?!?! What just happened here?!?! Getting to know someone new has always, always been a painful process for me when it comes to meeting someone new. Many a great email / text relationship has been ruined on the first phone call. But this was so easy. So natural. So perfectly friendly and comfortable that I felt like I'd known Kit all my life and this wasn't the first time we'd spoken. He just felt so familiar...in the best way possible.

Four hours later and I was hooked on this man's voice. Four hours flew by so quickly that we both thought it had been an hour - maybe two at most. Four hours is something teenagers do to annoy their parents, it's not how two thirty-somethings talk to each other. Yet that's precisely what we felt like. Giddy, happy, flirty teenagers. By midnight, we were each kinda wiped out and still didn't want to hang up. We ran through the old "You hang up - no you hang up - no you - ok, I'll hang up first - hey, you didn't hang up - neither did you - on three - ok, 1, 2, 3 - you're still here - so are you!" The cheesy factor was exponentially high that night, let's just leave it at that. Also, I'm pretty sure I was smiling well into my sleep.

Suffice it to say that our first phone call was amazing and all my fears were unfounded. Yes, it was nerve-racking at first but Kit brought out this comfortable confidence in me that I didn't even know existed. A month of emails, a week of texting, and four hours on the phone were enough to solidify his place in my mind as the first potential date I was truly looking forward to. A bright future. Who knew?