I'm writing this from a hotel room in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. About four hours north of where I live, Montreal is a whole other world. Literally; a whole other country, where they speak a whole other language.
Earlier this year, I invested in my first passport, because Trooper and I had planned a vacation outside the US. Instead, we broke up, and I put my passport in a drawer, not sure when I'd put the money to use.
Until a few weeks ago, when Sparrow suggested we take a long weekend, and he felt we should break in my passport, which was, "still a virgin."
So I'm here, outside the US, in the only Canadian Province that speaks French instead of English. The street signs and menus and maps are all in French, the currency is different, and there is so much to do, I'm overwhelmed. Which, as you may have guessed, makes me cranky.
Yet, I'm here with a man who is totally putting up with me - even told me I was still fun! - and yet, my alerts are all still set to red, waiting for his bag of hair to show up. I'm resisting this feeling, which I probably should not be doing.
Why? I'm not sure. Part of me wonders if it means he's not the right guy. Then another part of me thinks it has more to do with me, not being able to trust. Not really him....I think he's as trustworthy as any guy can be. But I sometimes wonder if any guy can really be trusted. Or, more to the point, any guy who says he has feelings for me.
"Be patient. You'll get where he is, or you'll find his bag of hair." Baking Suit is probably right. The guy who can deal with me being hungry, tired, while getting lost, and he doesn't get angry? That guy is as rare as a Cheshire Cat. So rare, in fact, that I'd become convinced he couldn't exist.
Finding him really does feel like I've fallen down the rabbit hole.