Unchecked Baggage

Back from Europe and still slightly jetlagged, I’m trying to get my head around busting out new projects, and being away from my BF for a full month! Europe was spectacular as ever with amazing fashion, wine, and not least chocolates. (Time to hit the gym 🙂 Contrary to some beliefs, I managed to stay the course – that is, no cheating – and communicated regularly with my Biker, who’s stock went up as he stayed on the ball and called, wrote and texted. Not bad for a rookie!

It’ll be interesting to see if he can hold onto the extra points now that he’s the one who’ll be living it up in the Mediterranean, sans worries or GF. He left Sunday, and I still haven’t heard from him. I’m trying to remain positive though, as I know traveling can be a nightmare, not to mention getting your new cell phone to work in Madrid in the middle of the night.

In my own case, my suitcase never made it, and the day after arriving I found myself at a birthday party in Paris wearing clothes two sizes too big. Bummer! An emergency shopping rescue was out of the questions as that Friday happened to be a national holiday in France. It then dawned on me that even when your checked baggage doesn’t make it to the destination on time, one kind of baggage always gets there – the emotional one!

As soon as I met up with my old friends, it was raining questions about past relationships. I totally forgot that because of our infrequent reunions my beautiful flawless French girlfriends had yet to get caught up on like the last five people I’ve dated. Aw! Although, pretty entertaining I have to admit it actually hurt a wee bit to talk about that stuff.

I guess I white-lied a little when I claimed in my very first column that I had zero baggage. Not entirely true.

I may not have two ex-husbands, eight kids, and a border collie hidden away in the attic, but of course I haven’t leapt completely un-scared through the past 29 years. For example, there was the boyfriend who cheated on me with his secretary while I was away at evening school trying to perfect my French. And then there was the incessantly jealous lover who liked me best in turtlenecks – no cleavage – and beat me severely before I finally walked away.

So, you experience a few bumps along the road, but you move on, stronger and wiser than before.

However, the leftover unchecked baggage undeniably complicates some things and makes bonding with a new BF a little slower and less intuitive. This is why I flinched when Equus asked in a comment a few weeks back, “where I see this going post after we’re past the honeymoon stage?” (He said something about rabbits, but I think that’s what he meant ;-). The answer is that I honestly don’t know. I can’t say The Biker is the man in my life. And I can’t say that he isn’t. I’m just trying not to let my past get in the way of a good thing. It’s all I can do to pace myself and not panic. Just breathe:

My point being that at this stage in life everyone you meet has a past – whether good, bad, or downright seedy. Right now, I’m actually fighting the urge to dig through my new boyfriend’s drawers in search of some sort of incriminating evidence. I know we’re all entitled to privacy. And I’m afraid to open Pandora’s box and set off a chain of events that’ll make the movie Little Black Book fade in comparison.

So I won’t. Even if I’m the one with keys to his car, house, and (emotional?) storage room. But, this doesn’t mean that I would never, especially if I had a sneaky suspicion that something might be rotten in the state of Denmark. I have several friends who found out about their men’s extracurricular activities by hacking into their email account. While this is not a particular ethical or dignified thing to do, I’m fairly certain they have no regrets today. At the end, it beats walking around with the feeling that something is dead-wrong and you just can’t put your finger on it.

Have you ever snooped? And if you’re almost certain that your beau is two-timing, does the end justify the means?

Hoping my guy will call soon and if not, c’est la vie. Five weeks is a long time to be apart when you’ve only dated for like two months!

Thanks again to Ryan for filling in while I was away, and may I just say that it’s good to be back!

Cheers,

Chassy