Irish

And the chronicles continue with Irish ...

Irish and I met in January, taking a snowboarding class that was offered through our school together. I remember meeting him on the bus and thinking, "I wonder if he'll become a character in my life." Sure enough, by the end of the first lesson, we were talking like we'd known each other for years.

By January, I had already dated a couple of guys since the October Breakup that I knew one of the most important criteria for me is that I need to feel like I could talk to him forever. Irish was the epitome of this. I remember we'd spend whole Sunday afternoons walking along the Charles river talking about anything and everything. We'd only stop because either or both of us had something we had to do, an appointment to fulfill. Whenever the time came for us to part, neither one of us would ever want to leave, and we'd try to prolong our conversations as much as possible.

At one point or another, I definitely asked myself what my feelings were toward Irish. Was it just friendship? Was it something more? I felt like we connected so well on our life outlooks, career goals, life priorities, our views on people, that we seemed like we were made for each other. He was a rare soul mate whom I had found.

Except, I wasn't physically attracted to him. As much as I wanted to be so that I could push our relationship toward a romantic one, I just wasn't. So I stopped thinking about Irish in that way, continued to have long, deep, soul-searching conversations with him, but I left our relationship at one of friendship.

And so the days went on, until one night toward the end of February, he confronted me and told me that he was in love with me. He said that he'd pretty much wanted to be with me from the moment he met me, and that he had gone back and forth on his feelings, but in the end knew that he was just in denial about things when he tried to convince himself we were just friends. He wanted to go beyond friendship and take me out on a real date.

Being the typical romantic girl that I was, I found it hard to turn down such an offer. Here was a guy whom I had gotten to know so well, whom I can feel so comfortable around, whom I could talk nonstop to for 7+ hours without even knowing how much time has passed, whom I had such amazing connections with, whom I considered a soul mate ... Here was this guy professing his love for me, how could I possibly turn that down?

I melted and started dating Irish. After a couple of dates however, the physical attraction issue resurfaced for me. I still wasn't physically attracted to him. Irish isn't bad looking: tall, blonde, and best of all, he had an amazing Irish accent. But he's chubby. And chubbiness is one of those traits that I have very low tolerances for (ugh, my superficiality, I know). I remember thinking what it would be like to wake up next to him, and I would always think about the fat that would also be there to greet me, and that became the deal-breaker. I realized that if I couldn't imagine myself happily waking up to him, no matter how great I felt like we connected otherwise, that lack of physical attraction bordering on slight repulsion would always be a thorn that would likely never go away.

I felt terrible about how superficial I was. I struggle a lot with throwing away a chance with an awesome who seemed like the perfect match for me: personality, chivalry, compassion, wit, intelligence, humbleness; he had a good head on his shoulders, had everything I could possibly want in someone I'm dating ... but I just wasn't physically attracted to him AT ALL. In fact, I was a bit repulsed by his chubbiness.

So I told him that things wouldn't work for us romantically, that I only saw him as a friend, and we went back to being friends. We were both mature enough that there was very little awkwardness, and we continued to spend lots of time together as just friends. There was always that little bit of tension though because I knew he still liked me as more than a friend. I want to say that I never used that, but when I look back, I probably did. If I wanted to do something that I was fairly certain none of my friends would want to do, I would call Irish knowing that he would almost certainly go with me.

Irish went home to Ireland for the summer. All summer long, we emailed back and forth, and on multiple occasions he would tell me that he really missed me. Me, I dated a bunch of people all summer long, none of whom things worked out with. Whenever something ended, I would get mildly depressed wondering if I would ever find someone to settle down with before I turn 40. Whenever I got mildly depressed, I would think of Irish and think about how I always had him to be there to take me and to be with me forever if it ever came down to that.

He got back to Boston late last week, and we've hung out tons already. Sunday night, my group of friends went on a cruise around the harbor, which really is just a glorified club on a boat. He came with us and hung out at one of my friends' place afterwards. We were sitting on the floor, and at one point, he saw I was uncomfortable with the pillow I had, so he offered his shoulder and said "you know, my shoulder is much more comfortable." So I laid on his shoulder, and he had his arms around me, and it just felt nice. It felt right.

Last night, we went for another one of our marathon walks around the river. We started around midnight, and we finally went home because it was 4am, and I was starting to fall asleep. We talked about lots of things that were very introspective about ourselves and our relationships with those around us. When we were saying good bye, he gave me a huge hug, and I kind of just paused ... looking up at him. I wasn't sure what I was doing, but part of me really wanted him to lean in and kiss me. I think he wanted to, but he held back out of propriety.

I still don't know what to think about Irish. I feel like I need only to give him the signal, and he and I would be together instantly. But my superficiality won't let me get over the chubbiness. Irish has three brothers, all of whom are tall, lean, blonde, beautiful. Over the last 6 months, I have found myself wishing, on more than one occasion, that Irish could have gotten his brothers' good looks as well.