To the Men I’ve Dated
In honor of my upcoming move to Bangladesh (land of far fewer dating opportunities), some seasonal highlights of the past year:
Summer of the Israeli Writer
Sure, he was also a teacher, but with that smirk and sharp wit, he always struck me as a drinking problem away from embodying a modern-day Hemingway. He was intoxicatingly comfortable in his own skin, which could explain why I kept coming back for more. However I quickly learned that though he met all the criteria on the list, we were still not right for each other.
We simmered and sparred. After the battle of the banter ended—as if we had deemed the other a worthy foe—we parted ways with respect and perhaps even, affection.
Autumn of the Nice Jewish Boy
Like a true anthropologist, he reveled in my quirks. I found his own idiosyncrasies at best mildly amusing. Initially it seemed we couldn’t be more different, but slowly, we shifted. He had a stillness that cooled my anxiety. Like tentative dance partners, we found a rhythm that worked—at least for awhile. Still, I wasn’t willing to throw out my dance card.