I met up with Architect #3 at my favorite Mexican place for dinner. (Architect numbers 1 and 2 deserve their own posts, which shall be written at a later date.)
Architect #3 contacted me via a dating website. He seemed intelligent, career motivated and relatively cool, so I accepted his dinner proposal. After all, someone who frequents my favorite Mexican restaurant out of the thousands in this city has good taste in at least one thing.
First impression: he's a bit shorted and a little more round than I anticipated. Not a big deal, looks change over time. I don't look the same as I did a year ago, and most certainly will not look the same in another year.
Conversation was okay. He's a Yankee transplant as well, and does relatively well for himself. I was impressed with his design aesthetic, as I understood it to be from the way he described renovating his house and building most of his own furniture.
But here's the rub: I felt no physical attraction. Sure, he's well educated, successful, and probably well off financially. So was my ex I was supposed to marry this weekend. This new guy could take care of me, fund all my shopping, support my hair-brained ideas, appease my need to fit in with higher society. And I'd be the attractive, volunteer-of-the-year, well-educated and enviable perfect wife and mother. But when all's said and done, I need more than that.
Or do I? Would suburban bliss be enough?
He asked if he could call me this weekend. I said okay. But I don't know if I'll answer it.