With Bolt dead to me, The Southern Gentleman suddenly whining his sad song my way again, we need to throw another player in to the mix. And no, it is not the dreaded Montana Man. It is Super Dad.
Picture it - Austin - last night - after a long day at the office, I was diligently 'typing' the text message to Edina while standing my car in the parking garage. As we park on the same deck, Super Dad drives by, honks, and goes on his merry way exiting the garage. I receive a phone call from Super Dad shortly after I finished pushing send on Edina-bound text - because let's face it, I am slow with all that text stuff. Super Dad tells to join him for dinner. I think nothing of it because we have done this a lot.
Fast forward now to dinner. The waitress inquires about dessert. Super Dad tells her that we are on our first date and he doesn't know if I am going to agree to grab a cocktail with him after dinner. The waitress starts suggesting places and I am merely trying not to laugh due to his dead pan delivery. As we are crossing the street leaving the restaurant, Super Dad states, 'That waitress really thought this was a first date. If she only knew how many dates we've really been on.'
Cue the ever dim light bulb going on over my head.
Then I start connecting the dots on past conversation and quite frankly I am a blooming idiot. Super Dad is going to fly me to his home town to go to his friend's big party for the weekend - they supposedly throw these wild parties - all delivered under the guise of thanking me for my work and I naively bought that.
Sunday, enjoying my buzz, I sent him a text message as I knew he had landed in town. Super Dad called me instantaneously after I sent him that text message. My first and last Irish Car Bomb provided me with liquid courage that left a nasty hangover.
I crossed the thin blue line that resides in my split of personal life and work life. However, Super Dad's time on the life-draining vampire project is coming to an end. Time to enjoy and try to not get caught up with my lines.