Sunday, July 14, 2013

It Takes a Village to Get a Date

Some of the group and I in panorama
This past weekend I met a guy on the Jersey shore. He did not rescue me from the undertow, nor did I meet him in line at the grocery store or at a club. Rather, this sandy union was a fix-up, initiated by my best friend ("Do you know anyone good for my friend Jane?") and then played out in front of a spirited group of highly curious, mostly married friends and neighbors who took an immediate interest in my social life.

Though the group says New Guy's celeb lookalike is a combo of  Dermot Mulroney, Pierce Brosnan and Matthew Modine, I'm using Clooney as his stand-in.

New Guy is good looking. New Guy seems to have his shit together and seems to be unattached at the moment. New Guy and I logged a total of about 3 weekend hours together, and yet members of the group were already referring to him (jokingly but incessantly) as "my boyfriend" and "future husband." There was an active discussion about "us" and the late afternoon flow of fruity cocktails only exacerbated the discussion in which I barely participated, but followed amusingly like a tennis match.

Over the course of a long weekend, this group cheered the relationship on and created opportunities for us to meet. We were a pet project of sorts. At times it felt awkward, but it was generally kind. In the company of the group, we met at a bar. We tossed a football on the beach while the group looked on. Someone sent him my number. "Do you want to take a walk on the beach tomorrow?" he later texted. The next day we took a long walk away from the group.

After the beach stroll, I wave to my favorite spies.

I am back in Florida now; New Guy is up north. The group is no longer in sight, but has done its part, and made the introduction. New Guy and I can handle it from here.