In 18 hours I am going to be standing in the airport, cotton-mouthed and feeling totally at the mercy of the fates.
There she'll be, stepping into the gate area, Zed, in all her Canadian glory.
We haven't even discussed whether we'll kiss, or hug or what when we meet.
I read on some dyke list about this couple who met online and got deeply involved from a distance. At the airport, the big butch who was waiting for her love to arrive stood ready with red roses (wed woses- how womantic), then got down on bended knee and proffered an engagement ring.
Now, that may be fine for some, but like a mullet haircut, it's just not my style to propose to someone I just laid eyes on moments earlier. It's a bit too Darva Conger are-you-out-of-your-fucking-codependent-mind creepy to me.
Besides, that sort of thing should be done privately, or at least in an out-of-the-way spot and not amidst travelers, eager to get to Omaha or someplace. And it helps if you've actually met the person in 3D.
Anyway, I may not be there tomorrow to greet Zed with wed woses and a rock, but I will have a heart filled with joy and great hopes that we connect as nicely as we have from afar. Make that 17.5 hours to go.