I’m in love, at least in the digital sense

I’m in dangerous territory here and I know it. I’ve fallen in love. Not real love, but the kind of love a third-grade kid feels for his 23-year-old teacher. I guess infatuation would be a better term; more accurate, at least. But it’s definitely something.

To compound the problem, the person for whom I’ve fallen isn’t even a real person, at least not yet. She’s just a couple photos and a dozen emails. So far, she’s not even a phone call, just a series of electronic pixels exchanged via the internet.

But I’m crazy about her.

Sure, I know it’s juvenile in the extreme, but I can’t help myself. We’ve emailed back and forth pretty much non-stop for the past couple days, and if it’s possible to fall for someone based on nothing but the written word, then I have.

I’ve heard about situations like this, but never thought it would happen to me. I’m just not the sort of guy to whom this sort of thing happens. I’m not a hopeless romantic, I’m not naïve, I don’t believe in “fate,” and I’m not particularly lonely, desperate or insecure. I don’t have trouble meeting women in “real life.” I guess what I’m saying is, I’m not Brad Pitt, but I do okay for a guy my age.

And still I’ve been checking my in-box every 20 minutes since the day we “met,” waiting for her next email.

So what is about this girl that’s disturbing my otherwise tranquil life? Well, she’s southern for one thing. Even in her writing her accent is evident, and I like it, a lot. And speaking of writing, she’s good at it; she communicates well with the written word—you wouldn’t believe how rare that is these days.

I even like her name.

Then there’s the fact she likes the same things I do, and I’m not just talking about the “thunderstorms and long walks on the beach” kind of baloney. She’s a fisherman. That’s one of the building blocks of a perfect relationship, far as I’m concerned. She likes dogs. She hates winter and is afraid to ride street motorcycles, same as me.

She loves to read and laugh (which is how we “met,” but that’s a story for another time). She likes flea markets. If she has a flaw, it’s that she loves to dance. I’m hoping this love won’t extend to wanting me to dance. But if it does, well, who knows, maybe I’ll go against everything I believe and learn a couple steps myself. (Though, she’ll have to be pretty darn wonderful for this to happen!)

We’re supposed to meet this Saturday, face to (gasp!) face. And yeah, I know chances are we won’t even like each other once we’re actually looking at each other over cups of coffee, tea or mint juleps (remember, she’s southern). She won’t like the way I smell, or I won’t like the sound of her voice. The pheromones will be all wrong. She’ll remind me too much of my sister or I’ll remind her too much of her drunk Uncle Harry.

There’s a million reasons we won’t hit it off.

But we might. Meanwhile, I get to feel hopeful, and that’s not a bad thing, not a bad thing at all.

More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com