Doctors, Lawyers and Potheads- Oh My!

I've been back in the dating game for about 8 months now...amazing how time flies. I've gone on dates with a multitude of men during this time, and the three that stand out are The Doctor, The Lawyer and The Pothead...my favorite of which was The Pothead. The Pothead and I shared a great, intense romance over the course of about 5 magical late summer weeks. From the first date we were smitten with one other. We saw each other often...we drank and ate and kissed our way through many glorious evenings. Our short lived relationship was quite intense...I spent many hours over numerous dinners and bottles of wine staring into his blue green eyes, both of us with silly grins on our faces...smiles of happiness and excitement and wondering, "Could this be The One?".
Maybe I should have heeded the red flag I saw begin to wave when he fondly referenced "camp" as the best time in his life, and when he told me he still has a tight knit group of "camp friends". It always concerns me when a guy references his college days...or a time long since passed, as the best time of his life...to me it implies that he wishes he was back there...living the college, or camp, lifestyle. Peter Pan I do not want. But I turned a blind eye and our romance continued... I mean, a guy who loved camp couldn't be all that bad... "so, he's nostalgic", I rationalized.
When you are dating for any length of time, there's only so many dinners you can go out to. Sometimes you just want to be at home, on the couch, in your cargo shorts, with your feet up on the coffee table, eating Chinese food and watching movies. It's just the natural progression of things. What I especially liked about The Pothead was that he never really tried to get into my pants. Sure, after a few hours of making out on the couch, he would ask me to sleep over, which I always declined. But he never pushed, or groped, or did anything beyond kissing me. I liked it. Little did I realize he was probably just too high to do anything more.
What ever happened to waiting? I don't know who made up the three date rule, but it's not part of my rule book. I want to savor and prolong that courtship phase...where you're enthralled and enraptured in the anticipation of what's to come. Whereas, in most aspects of my life I want instant gratifcation (eating, drinking, shopping), this is the one thing where I want, and insist upon, delayed gratification. I want to give it time...time to fantasize and look forward to....I'm just not into the wham, bam, third date thank you, ma'am. So, any guy that's on that agenda is just wasting both of our time and his money.
But The Pothead seemed to be okay with just kissing for hours on end. I don't think we ever even got to second base. And it just made me like him more- a guy who was okay with taking things this slowly seemed a rare treasure. Everything was going along swimmingly...until one fateful evening.
In another effort to impress me, my summer romance cooked dinner for me...shrimp cocktail and filet mignon...and of course, Pinot Noir. Clearly, he knew the way to my heart. There was candlelight, medium rare meat and wine...I was a happy girl. I was secretly contemplating locations for our oceanside Love Ceremony with every tender bite...until the conversation took a turn. Maybe it was my discovery of his affinity for the Grateful Dead that made me ask him if he used to smoke a lot of weed. He replied by nodding emphatically. Which led me to my next question, "Do you still smoke?" Again, emphatic nodding. My face fell. To the ground. And he saw it hit the carpet. The Face doesn't hide much. It was then that I knew the dinner, and the budding relationship, were over. If my doctor brother had been there he could have called the TOD at that very moment, as we sat on the couch, The Pothead still nodding....as he would be, for life.
We really did enjoy each others company...we had the attraction, the chemistry, the spark. And neither of us quite wanted to let it go. So, in the few weeks ensuing that fateful night we continuted to see each other, and had numerous conversations about his pot usage...about him cutting down, about smoking vs. drinking, about how he didn't want to lose me. But, from the moment he started nodding his head, I knew that no amount of "cutting down" would work for me....unless it was cut down to zero. And let's face it, as naive as I am, I know a 38 year old pothead is not "cutting down"...and certainly not to zero....even for a woman as gorgeous, captivating and as good a kisser as me. I knew it just wasn't realistic, or possible. And I knew his smoking was not acceptable to me.
Would I never have another drink if the man of my dreams asked me not to? Good question. That's a bridge I'll cross if I ever get to it. I do miss The Pothead, though. Why coulnd't he just have been a wino like me?