Separation in the early phases of Old People Dating is an interesting concept. You’re not physically together, but you’re not out of touch, either.
I just returned from two weeks in France. I’d been invited on this trip more than a year ago. Originally, my friend who took me with her and I thought it might be a good way to see more of the world and meet new people (ahem.) Sure, most of the tour guests skewed toward their 70s. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be younger people accompanying their elderly parents about the riverboat. That was the original plan.
I was not prepared to be in a brand new relationship when I left.
Truthfully, I wasn’t even prepared to find myself in the strange position of missing someone other than my family and friends. It’s odd. But miss him I did. And departed on my trip wondering if indeed absence makes the heart grow fonder. All the pundits agreed that being apart just when things are getting hot and heavy would be a good thing. (really?) It would allow us both the benefit of distance to cool it down a bit and see just how enamored we really are with each other.
Long distance fire-stoking.
Let’s face it, when you’re in the early part of a new relationship, it’s pretty lit. Proximity increases the temps considerably. Seems like it might be worth ensuring the coals are still cooking while you’re gone.
Those who thought that distance would calm things down forgot about technology. Cell phones, Wi-Fi, and unlimited international data roaming become indispensable. Quickly. Did you ever wonder how people who are “dating” and live in other countries manage to create and sustain a bond? I have one word: WhatsApp.
In fact, I was able to show my man around the grounds and vineyards of Chateau Rully after a little wine tasting. Oooo la la! Took him for a walk around little towns along the Saône River. Spoke to him every damn day. So much for cooling off. The time difference made things interesting, since I’d (hopefully) be asleep before he’d be finished with work for the day. The connection continued, across an ocean and a six-hour time difference.
Absence definitely makes the heart grow fonder.
Before long, we were counting the days until I was back stateside to be together. Don’t think I wasn’t living it up all over the Burgundy region of France! Au contraire, mes amis. I was partying like I was living in a 20-year-old body, much to my detriment. Case in point: one night, I was up until 2 am singing karaoke – basically took hold of the microphone and never gave it up for the entire night. I took requests along with glasses of champagne – dangerous practice. There is video evidence. Another night, I danced so hard I hyperextended my knee and was hobbling for the next two days. Didn’t stop me from dancing the next night. During the day, we were going to various and sundry points of interest, cooking demonstrations, wine tastings, cheese pairings. Glorious!
But he who was left behind was pining.
Gotta tell ya, it’s a whole new experience, being OPD and having someone pine for you! When was the last time anyone did that??? I was always the one doing the pining. Nice to have the tables turned for a change.
What actually happened.
By the time the tour was over, the majority of the boat was sneezing and hacking and I was one of the late casualties. Just three days before the end of the trip, I woke up in the middle of the night dying of thirst, congested and coughing. All but one of our group was hopped up on cold medication. Wore our masks for the trip home while we hacked up half of our lungs; we surely didn’t want to contribute to airport and airplane germs.
Remember COVID-19? Yeah. That.
As soon as I got home and showered, I took an at-home test. Positive. Looked at the expiration date, and it had expired last summer. Found another one, expired last fall. Masked up and went to the pharmacy. Bought more cold meds and more tests. Took the new one. Still positive. OPD is fraught with all manner of obstacles.
So guess who gets to pine for me for another week until the 10th day is up?
Yup. That guy.
