Man-o-man, am I a sucker for a guy in uniform. There’s just something about the clean cut, polished look of a man’s suit that really revs my engine. Decked out from head to toe in crisp white uniforms and blue ascot ties. They even had those cute little sailor hats to complete the look…you know the ones I’m talking about. ;) My excitement was probably comparable to that of a 5 year-old kid in a candy store, but I didn’t care. Stella just laughed at me and pulled me along, insisting that there would be more sailors when we reached our destination.
We made it to the bar and were catching up with friends over a few tasty bevies. Stella and I were having a good time, but I was getting antsy because about an hour had passed since we arrived and there was not a sailor in sight. Boooo. I was a tad disappointed…until about 5 minutes later, that is. I looked up to see six white and black hats float in over the crowd of heads. Eeeek, sailors! I elbowed Stella and quickly skirted my way across the room, strategically placing myself between the group of sailors and the bar. One of them caught my eye with a smiling nod. He made his way over to me, and without a hello or even an introduction, he picked up my beverage and said, “You could use another drink.” Complete with a wink. Holy smokes, it was all so simple. But he was smooth.
Sandy brown hair and deep brown eyes. He was wearing a perfectly tailored, white uniform set with gold buttons and a high collar. If that wasn’t enough, he was Canadian…which meant the ever so slight hint of an accent (another weakness of mine). Damn it. I was a goner. After a little introductory chitchat, we grabbed our drinks and sat down to talk. At some point in the evening, Stella made her exit to meet up with her boyfriend, but I stayed behind. I was having waaaay too good of a time getting to know this bloke; no way was I going home early.
Canada and I chatted until it was nearly last call. It turns out that we had sat there talking for over two hours!! He was funny, and I felt really comfortable with him for some reason (Which could have entirely been due to the uniform. Who knows?)…In either case, I was intrigued.
Like a ‘gent, he escorted me home…where a make out sesh may (or may not) have ensued...I never kiss and tell…ok, well within reason at least. ;)
The next morning, I woke up like a bolt at 7:00am. Getting swept up in the events of the evening, I had completely forgotten that I left my car parked downtown. Crap. I guess flirting with cute sailors tends to sidetrack me…Oopsies #1. Now after 3+ years of being besties, I am well aware of the fact that Stella is NOT a morning person…as such, I’ve learned to wake her up VERY carefully and with extreme caution. I quietly tiptoed into her room and asked her to give me a lift downtown so that I could fetch my car before it was towed…oh yeah, and because I needed to give the sailor, that was still in my bed, a ride back to his ship…errr…Oopsies #2. That woke Stella up fast. She was laughing hysterically, but as any true bestie would, she gave me (or rather, us) a ride. Love her. Shortly after, I dropped Canada back at his ship and we said our goodbyes. I wasn’t entirely proud of myself for letting him spend the night, but I settled with the fact that I was probably his “Seattle Fling” and could have bet money that I would never ever see or hear from him again. Boy, was I wrong.
Side note. Since this entire shenanigan took place over Sea Fair Weekend; I should also mention that Canada’s ship was in port with a number of other fleets to celebrate the coinciding Fleet Week. That’s right ladies: Seattle was taken over for an entire weekend by hundreds of foreign sailors. Women everywhere were ecstatic.
To my surprise, I got a text from Canada the next afternoon. He was still in town, and the weather was great, so we made plans to meet up and go to Golden Gardens. I almost didn’t recognize him in his civilian get-up, but he was still as charming as ever. We sat on the beach, watched the sunset and just talked for hours. Canada kept me laughing and the conversation rolled on so smoothly, nothing felt forced. I felt so at ease with him around. So comfortable…Before I knew it nearly 5 hours had flown by. I couldn’t believe it – this felt like it was straight out of a RomCom.
Despite my attraction to Canada, I pleaded with myself to be realistic…after all, this guy went against two of my biggest rules:
1) He was from Canada (I don’t do long distance, let alone INTERNATIONAL), and
2) He was in the Navy (For a multitude of reasons, I refuse to date military).
My head was saying one thing, but my heart was shouting another. Let’s be real though, who was I kidding?! I was dunzo from the moment he kissed me. Rules and all, right out the window. *sigh*
Fast forward one month. Summer was coming to a close, and Canada and I had managed to keep in touch. Facebook, texts, the occasional phone call…things were light, but I was happy with that. Like a foolish imbecile I was starting to toy with the idea, “Where this could all go?” Realistically, it was all I could do to not smack myself. I knew this could never go anywhere meaningful. I knew I was only setting myself up for a very painful failure. Yet that stupid “What If?” factor kept me idiotically optimistic.
After awhile, we made plans for me to come visit him so that I could have a tour of everything Canadian. I was getting more and more excited to see him. By the time I set foot on his home turf, I was beside myself with giddiness.
He picked me up in the most outrageous lime green rental car, with a huge grin on his face. God, it was sooo good to see him again. I could feel it – This was going to be one amazing weekend. As I got in the car he said, “Welcome to Canada: Here is your customary Tim Horton’s coffee, honey crueler annnnndddd snowball.” Plop. He put that snowball right in my hand, and all I could do was laugh. Seriously?? Of all things, this dude’s handing me a frozen ball of snow as a greeting. Thinking about it still makes me smile.
He stuck to the Canada theme to a “T” – a hockey game, Butchart Gardens, pulled pork poutine, tiger tail ice cream sundaes and CFL games...we did it all. It was amazing. This Canadian fully admits to being “kitchen challenged”…even struggling to make boxed pasta, but he went out of his way to cook for me. It’s the simple things that always come across the sweetest -- B&E breakfasts and a delicious steak dinner. We went for a spin on his bike and he showed me all of the local sites. Let me just say…being a biker babe is one hell of an arm workout. It was obvious from the get-go that Canada was trying hard to impress me. And he succeeded. It was quite possibly one of the best weekends I’ve had in a very long time. Not only was I having a great time with a great guy, but I was totally off the grid – sans stress from work, family and general life. I even managed to not check email…or…*pause for dramatic effect*…Facebook. My life’s been so jumbled and out of sorts the last few months, this weekend came as a much needed relief from reality.
The downside to running away from reality is that it doesn’t just disappear. It just sits there, idly waiting…ready to eventually smack you in the face like a freight train.
Sunday came and as I laid there next to him, all I wanted to do was soak up every last bit of the weekend that we’d just shared. Part of me really didn’t want to leave. And who could blame me??…reality was waiting for me, and frankly, reality sucked. I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t believe that I could become so attached to someone in such a short span of time. I mean, I’ve heard of it happening to other people, but that’s just not my style. I’m too calculated. I always have to weigh the pros and cons of everything. More often than not, I seek out reasons for why I should not be with someone. I’m not the type of girl that jumps into a situation, emotions ablaze. That’s how you get burned. A sheer recipe for disaster. No way, not me.
Just a mere hour before I had to head back to the ship, I went against every fiber of my better judgment and made the dumbest mistake ever. One that I KNOW 99.9% of women out there have made as well. I asked the dreaded “So, what are we now?” question. UGH! Ladies, why do we torture ourselves like this?? This conversation is always stress-inducing to no end, and it NEVER turns out the way we want it too. Well, I’ll tell you why – It’s because we have ovaries and boobs, and we’re too damn emotional. We can be logical, rigid and quick thinking in any other situation imaginable…but throw a man in the mix and suddenly we’re jello. What a bunch of bull.
In typical male fashion, his response was something to the effect of, “Why can’t we just leave things how they are? Why does it have to change?” Ouch. I felt the achy pain of a rejection coming on, and I wasn’t entirely sure how I should react. We went back and forth for a bit, and he explained why it would never work. Long distance. International. Our careers. Blah blah blah. Sure, it all made sense. He was just being honest, and practical. I couldn’t blame him for that. The realistic side of my brain was shouting that I had to agree with him. But it still hurt. A lot. I could feel myself choking back tears.
To be quite honest, I stopped listening after I didn’t get the answer I wanted. Questions began swirling – “Maybe it’s not me, maybe it’s just the distance? International borders can be a bitch...Maybe he’s seeing someone else?...What did I do wrong?...Perhaps, I’m just his weekend fling?...and my personal fav…J-Christ this is so embarrassing, is there annnnyyyway that I can get back to the boat without having him see me cry??”
I don’t know how I did it, but I somehow managed to keep my composure. Canada wasn’t oblivious, he could tell there was something bothering me. I made up some BS excuse about being sad to leave, which wasn’t entirely untrue. I don’t think he bought it though. Oh well, I tried.
To make matters worse, I got a text from Canada just as my boat was leaving the harbor – “Bye Bella, I’m glad you came this weekend, but I’m sad to see you go. And this goddamn country station won’t stop playing the sappy shit country. Anyways, it’s a shit deal that we live where we do.” Good lord. I don’t know who I was trying to fool – The tears were coming whether I wanted them to or not; I clearly had no choice in the matter.
Shortly after that, another text – “Take a look to port side and try to spot the green lawnmower” – his nickname for the fluorescent green, pea-sized rental car. My eyes were blurry from crying and it was getting dark, but I managed to see a small car off in the distance flashing its headlights. It was him. “This is me waving goodbye.” Again, it was like something straight out of a RomCom. He drove down the coastline following my boat, just to say goodbye. Oh wow, did I lose it.
Thank god my mother taught me to keep Kleenex in my purse because I cried the entire 2 hours and 45 minutes back to Seattle, through Customs and the entire ride back to my apartment. I can’t even explain what came over me, but I’m pretty sure the other passengers probably thought I was a nut. Every time I tried to catch my breath, more hot tears just came streaming down my face.
For the record – anyone who knows me at all knows that I am NOT a crier. I hate crying. I’m too practical for crying. Crying is a waste of time and energy, only leaving you with puffy eyes and a splitting headache. Not attractive.
I opted to work from home the whole next day, barely leaving the warm security of my bed. And the tears were endless. Even now, days after leaving Canada, I still find myself swallowing back tears. What on earth is making me act this way?? And more importantly, will it ever end?
When I first sat down to write this story out, I thought it could serve two purposes:
1) As with all of our Tool Box stories, it would serve as a venting mechanism. A way for me to put Canada behind me and end this silly emotional cycle. Some things are just easier to write down, than to verbalize, you know?
2) It would be a nice alternative to our usual Tool Box adventures. This blog is supposed to be a way for Stella and me to share our tales of the heart – the good, the bad, the ugly – so that you can glean your own lessons from our debacles. Now, don’t get me wrong – Canada is not a Tool. He is however, a Box worthy story that has left his mark.
So I don’t have a witty lesson to be learned or general conclusion that can somehow be extrapolated and applied to your own dating escapades. I’m sad and it hurts. There really isn’t much else to say. I know on some level, he’s sad too. But he’s a boy, and military, and therefore comes equipped with a much better ability to compartmentalize his feelings. Damn him and his testosterone. For now, my only solution is to dive deeper into my unrelenting reality in an attempt to distract myself from my stupid girlie emotions. The order of the day? – Piling on the workload and doubling up on the gym sessions. Oh goodie.
Thanks for this post. It provides some great insight.
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