Let Me Do That

Cheese plates are one of life’s great pleasures.  I’m just about sure of it.


Pass me your favorite knives — they don’t need to match. I’ll bring a cutting board — we can pretend it’s a cool gray slate.

We can candy the pecans you’ve had hanging around while we talk — or we can be lazy and go hit the bulk bins. We can let the cheesemonger tell us which cheeses we should try. (Might as well, while we’re there.) We’ll only feel slightly bad for splurging. Right? Right. Let’s make that a promise.

And maybe we’ll spring for some fresh figs (Black Mission — do you like those?). On the way home, if we see them. Oh, and I can also contribute the apple I was going to have for lunch tomorrow. And some of the local honey that I bought for a recipe I once had every intention of making.

Things might get a little sticky. A little messy. It’ll be fun! It’ll be a welcome break from what we’ve been eating lately, anyway.


It’ll be so nice, to get to know you. To hear about what you love (tiramisu, traditions, tall men, tiny earrings), and to hear about what you don’t (blue cheese, blouses every day, breakable dreams). We’ll laugh and commiserate and wonder why we weren’t friends long before. We might remember to order dinner, eventually.


I’ll tell you about how indecisive I am, all of a sudden. About how one day New York will make me feel like I am stuck in a dumpster and cannot get out, and a day later it will make me feel like the possibilities are simply endless — if I could only keep at it.


I’ll tell you about how this indecisiveness isn’t really new. About how even when I was never-gonna-give-you-up, never-gonna-let-you-down, never-gonna-run-around WILDLY in love — I still had second thoughts, sometimes. About how I seem to be the type of person to have second and third and fourth and fifth and sixth thoughts, and this cycle can only be stopped when someone sweet gives my shoulders a little shake and says hey, cool it.


We’ll cheer each other up. File a few things under Do Not Photograph Ever. Enjoy being with someone who doesn’t make us want to check our phones.

We’ll call this date a great success — as platonic as it’ll be — and we’ll joke about all the ones that haven’t been. You’ll tell me about how you finally met, and it’ll be so easy for me to see how much you love him. I’ll remember what it was like — to love like that. I don’t even need you to love me back — I just want to love you. Will you let me do that?

I’ll tell you that once upon a time there was someone who loved me like that. Who just loved all of these things about me — little things, funny things, serious things. You’ll help me see that those just weren’t the things that were important to me, the year I lived in shoebox and ate one thousand eggs.


2 thoughts on “Let Me Do That

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