You Talking to Me?

She has green eyes and short brownish red hair. Her smile is shy. Her gaze is whimsical. We've traded half a dozen or so emails. She's intrigued. I'm flattered and fascinated. She likes the zoo. I do too.

Some other similarities come to light. Some engaging banter ensues.

She suggests a meet. I agree, in principal but suggest that it might be too soon. She admits to some logistical and physical discomfort with emailing, but more than willing to continue, until such time that we are both comfortable enough to move forward. "Take your time, the ball's in your court."

Huh? Ball. Court. Is that a basketball or volleyball reference? Does it matter?

Eyes still a bit phlegmy, head addled by chicken soup and antihistamine seeming to affect my ability to properly process these events. This is exactly what I'm doing on those sites. Trying to meet women. And here is one, who wants to meet. Me.

She is not the first to suggest a meet. She is, however, the first to do so after some sort of playing field had been established. She says things like being intrigued by the images, the emotions evoked by intentional expression. To a woman like me that's some serious playing field.

The ball is in my court, she says. I'm betting it's a basketball reference. Further, I'm of the opinion that the sooner I get my eyes and head clear, step up to the line and take a freaking shot, the better. The fans are getting antsy.

Some good ladies have noted that week one is just around the corner. Suggestive, I presume, of new days.

And the ball is in my court.