And then there’s Ash

My life has been a bit of a whirlwind these past few days. I was texting with Ash and he asked what I’d been up to. I recounted my weeks’ activities and mentioned the saga of Nathan.

Ash immediately became sad. “I thought I was your boyfriend” he wailed. I confessed that I was desperate for someone — anyone — to actually come into my life and not just a cyber buddy. On the surface, Nathan seemed promising. However, his pressing for more money (and his lack of thanks for the money I sent which, by the way, hasn’t cleared my bank yet) convinced my friends that I was barking up a very dangerous tree. How do you spell S-C-A-M.

I cut off contact with Nathan who sent one email wondering why I was no longer in touch. He had visited my profile once on about three days ago. I tersely replied that there was nothing more to add to the last email I sent. I have heard no more from him. Thankfully Rahim, the petrobrat from UAE seems to have found another fish to fry.

So, Ash and I have been engaging in heavy duty honest exchange of daily texts. He suggested that we meet in Tunisia, he has a friend from whom he can rent a house for 11 days. Pictures were sent and it looks lovely. I’ve agreed so I now have plane reservations for Nov. 8-20. I kept getting the run-around with British Airways and eventually went back to Travelocity who set me up right. I think.

So, Phoenix to London, London to Tunis via Frankfurt. I’ve been compiling a list of things to pack, looking on line for maps of Heathrow, sites to see in Tunisia (also traveller warnings!) and dreading the idea of having to tell family and friends my latest scheme.

Is this folly? Perhaps, but to wait is even more folly. I’m not getting younger and Parkinsons is a progressive disease. Go now or forever hold my peace. I told Ash that I may die in his arms. He didn’t like that idea so I had to assure him that I would be fine.

I’m trying to be prudent. I have travel insurance. I’m going to get assistance at the airports. I’ll insist on naps. I hope Adam Balzer gives me a script for sleep on the plane to London. I’ll register in the State Department’s STEP program. Beyond that, well, life is a crap shoot where ever you are. I mean, I was assaulted steps away from the Gay and Lesbian Center in Long Beach for crying out loud.

Eleven days with Ash. He likes historical sites (he says) so I’ll hold him to that. His vision of us making uninterrupted love needs to be dampened. I’ve cautioned him frequently that we’ll need to go slow and he’ll need to be patient with me. There’s a 40 year difference between us, to say a jet lag to recover from.

I heard back from regarding the family DNA. I was a bit disappointed in the results. There seemed to be little acknowledgement of our maternal lineage. Instead there was a lengthy history of dad’s family in the last two and three hundred years in the south. In my email to the family, I pointed out that the political and religious fervors of my siblings gives weight to our southern heritage. The fact that one of our past ancestors had slaves more or less confirms my suspicion that, deep down, we are nothing but poor white southern trash.

The fact that dad married mom is a fluke

Hmm, and Betty married Mac.


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