The proof is in the pasta, not the pudding

He put the seat down! He put the seat down!
I wanted to shout it from the rooftop. “Mr. Right Now” had put the toilet seat down at my house when he was finished in the bathroom—and best of all, I didn’t have to ask him to do it!
And when we’re out together, he opens the door for me everywhere we go!
On the first date, I chocked the gesture up to the usual considerations put in place to “impress the girl.” But we’re a country mile or two past “Go” and my gentleman friend continues to open doors for me all the time.
That brownie point alone has the potential to earn him just about anything he wants, including my half of the cheesecake the next time we go out on a date.
And as if having my own personal doorman isn’t enough to send me over the top, just the other day, while Mr. Right Now was visiting in my neck of the woods, he uttered the four most important words in any relationship: “I’ll do the dishes.”
Be still my heart.
Suddenly I was dying to ask him the forbidden “5.” Do you vacuum? Dust? Do laundry? How about litter boxes and taking out the garbage?
But I held it all in like the big sneeze idled during a church sermon. There was an appropriate time and a place for such momentous things.
Besides, I didn’t want to disturb the good karma that was swimming around in my kitchen just then. He’d be headed home soon and true volunteers for dish duty would cease to exist as Daughter #3 requires a hammer and chisel to pry her loose from her computer.
Instead, I simply said, “Thank you,” and stood there smiling as he squeezed way too much dish soap in the sink and nested my entire cutlery collection upside down in the rack holder.
So far, this guy is a keeper and he’s helping me to let go of some of the control issues that have grown roots in my world since being alone and pushing all the buttons these last couple of years.
And my appetite is back and I’m hungry all the time.
Yet, there are so many things he doesn’t know about me—and most of it revolves around food.
Is it really necessary to tell him just how much I can eat in one sitting? And that I’ve been known to consume a whole pizza by myself, or all four servings of chocolate pudding, or vacuum up a large bag of potato chips and a vat of sour cream in between television commercials?
No need to tempt fate. Some things just don’t need to be confessed.
Or so I thought.
When Mr. Right Now is at home in his neck of the woods, we stay in touch through Skype every day and have been doing that as necessary for more than four months. We can talk the time away with spontaneity and ease.
We were doing just that one recent evening. Between bites of his late-night meal while on camera, he asked, “And what did you have for supper?”
“Kraft Dinner,” I replied back without thinking.
And as soon as I said it, a foreboding choked off my oxygen supply. I liken my regret in that “KD” moment to what occurred in 1990 in the microsecond before the car door locked and I realized I’d left the keys in the ignition and a child still buckled into a car seat.
I held my breath.
“Did you eat the whole box?” asked Mr. Right Now.
I envisioned the look of shock on his face and the loud gasp that would cause him to drop his plate when I told him the truth.
“Yes. Yes, I did,” I replied, swallowing hard as I formed a cheesy grin and sucked in the “Buddha.”
“Good for you,” he said without hesitation. And that was that.
I wanted to jump right through my laptop screen and into his living room.
Oh, this guy is a keeper all right.

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