Summer Lovin’

I’m enjoying dating for the first time ever.

I’ve been having such a great time during my first summer living in DC proper that I decided to kick it up a notch and jump into the dating pool again by reactivating my online dating profile. Don’t get me wrong, I still hate it and it makes me cringe. The difference is this time I really don’t give a fuck. I’m not laser focused on a relationship. I don’t care how many dates I go on. I’m having a blast this summer on my own and this time dating is just a fun supplement—kind of like drinking vodka Red Bulls.

I really didn’t think I’d hear back from guys. And I honestly didn’t give a fuck. But the funny (and surprising) thing is I heard back from A LOT of men. I’ve literally been going on multiple dates each weekend–and they usually all want to see me again, too. They’ve taken me out to dinner, volunteered to meet in my neighborhood, and bought me drinks.

Yesterday, I went on a second-date museum outing and booked a separate dinner date later that evening. When the museum guy said our date would extend into a fun evening of exploring D.C., I responded, “Oh, I have dinner plans later. I thought we would be done at the museum by then.” Whoops.

My roommate was also surprised how quickly I hit the dating scene running. “I thought you hated online dating?!” she exclaimed.

“I know, I do. But I’m just having fun,” I said.

This behavior is foreign to me too. I was always the reserved one who turned my nose up at flings and online dating. But once you take a French lover, there’s really no turning back.

I gotta tell you: It feels so relieving to not give a fuck. It really does. To not be all angst-y and analytical and stressed about dating. If this is 30 (which I will be in November), then sign me up!

The only point so far where I did get self-conscious and anxious was when the museum guy asked, “So I noticed you coughing on our first date and you are again today. Are you OK?”

Oh FUCK. Here we go. It’s harder to hide my cystic fibrosis as I get older–my lungs aren’t as healthy as they used to be and they’re often “junky.” A younger me would have made an excuse or lied in that moment. But I didn’t. “So I kind of always have a cough, because I have a genetic lung disease.” I answered sheepishly.

Now, I didn’t go into the FULL breakdown, i.e. it’s terminal and progressive and I probably won’t live past 55. Turns out I still give a little bit of a fuck. I explained that I have to take care of myself and take medications. “I was born with it and there’s no cure, so what can ya do?” I said shrugging and let the reality of the words fall where they may.

“Well, I don’t think that’s weird or anything,” he replied, to my genuine surprise. “So this kind of cough is normal for you then?”

I nodded. “Yes, for me it is. For a normal person it’s not.”

“OK,” he said matter-of-factly. I wondered if he would become a little more distant the rest of the date due to this new knowledge. But, in the car ride back, he grabbed and caressed my hand. I reciprocated.

“So, which museum are we going to next time?” he asked.

It’s tempting to settle with the first guy who doesn’t flinch hearing I have a chronic illness. But I’m not that girl anymore–I’m a grown-ass independent woman. So he dropped me at my door, and I promptly changed into a cute sundress and prepared for my next date.