Stick a fork in me...I'm done

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Chicago has never looked lovelier, brighter, sunshinier. I feel light and warm - I'm smiling, sighing, laughing for no reason, and singing "I Could Have Danced All Night" from My Fair Lady. Even the smarmy homeless men who typically taunt me, seem to tip their hats as I pass. Why is this? What is the reason? Something in the air? The water? My coffee?

No, my friends. I am currently basking in the warm, gooey afterglow of a stellar second date with "The Dashing Litigator".

After our first date it was four full days before I heard from him. By the third day I was thoroughly convinced that he was not interested and I would not hear from him again.

And then on day four he appeared in my inbox asking me when I would be free to get together. I danced around my apartment like a lovestruck teenager who's just been asked to the prom.

After a few emails coordinating schedules, we arranged a date. Last night.

The evening played out like a movie. He rang my doorbell promptly at 7:30pm wearing dark blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, greeting me with a hug and whisking me away to Mon Ami Gabi, a beautiful french restaurant in Lincoln Park. He looked as gorgeous as I remembered him and his ready smile put me immediately at ease. We dined al fresco amid trees sparkling with white lights and waiters wearing bowties. We sipped beaujolais, dined on steak roquefort, and laughed. The chivalrous theme of our previous date pervaded this one as well. At one point - from laughing and mild allergies - my nose was a bit stuffy. I apologized for sniffling and he laughed. He left the table after a bit to use the restroom and when he returned he presented me with several neatly folded tissues. He then politely turned his head while I blew my brains out. I know it was a small gesture, but add that to the countless other 'small ones' (Making a reservation in advance, opening my door, pulling out my chair, offering me every bit of food before he took some for himself) and it equalled one heckuva Prince Charming.

I cannot adequately convey the magic of the conversation, which was dazzling and electric. A veritable 'Cirque de Soleil' of stories, shared observations, verbalized dreams and wonderings. Our eyes scarcely broke contact. We were both leaning in toward each other, unaware of anything around us. I lost track of time and space.

Three hours later we found ourselves at "Katerina's", a jazz club in our neighborhood. We cozied up at a table - he swilled a bourbon on the rocks, I sipped a merlot. We listened to the swing band and I completely forgot that it was a 'school night'. An elderly couple was on the dance floor dressed to the nines, swing dancing gently and gracefully to the music. We watched them and smiled at each other. He squeezed my hand. Every time we spoke we leaned in to each other - at first because it was necessary in order to be heard, and then just because it was nice be close.

I warned him repeatedly that I may turn into a pumpkin at the stroke of twelve. He took off his watch and set it on the table and when it was midnight, we stood to leave. He drove me home and immediately asked, "When do I get to see you again?" Because of my hectic upcoming tech week and show opening, a lunch date would have to do - sometime next week.

I thanked him for a truly lovely evening and leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek...but apparently his lips were feeling left out.

And we couldn't have that.

I currently feel like I have high fructose corn syrup oozing out of my pores. This morning I greeted my roommate (who was trying to make breakfast) with a too-cheery-for-6:30am "Gooood morning!" I only had about 5 1/2 hours of sleep and yet I feel invigorated and refreshed and if my mood were a Crayola crayon I would be razzle dazzle rose.

Perhaps this latest mushy post is merely a precursor, heralding the 'end time' of this blog. The end of an era of dead-end dates and disappointing duds.

Oh, wouldn't it be lover-ly.