When I found you online, I also discovered a video of you playing a song on the piano. It has become my favorite due to the fact that it was the first time I ‘saw’ you again after so many years.
I watched your fingers glide across the keys. I studied your face. I ached to touch your hair where it lay against your neck. I couldn’t look away; I was mesmerized hardly believing it was really you. I felt like I held my breath until you played the last note. I watched it over and over and over. I thought I was going to wear out my speakers or a cruel box would pop up and tell me I’ve viewed the allotted amount of time and I would be cut off.
The world tipped for me that day. I was catapulted back to 1999. I couldn’t even put to words what I was feeling. I was too overwhelmed. I had proof that you were still out there in that great, big world. I just didn’t know what to do about it.
The song haunts me and seduces me. It fills my whole being and makes me tingle, because I know it’s you playing it. It brings tears to my eyes because of the emotions it elicits. I play it continuously. I am completely sweet on you, Sir.
The money that I spent to cut that demo tape and have the video shot was worth every penny. It led you to me. Even though we had not spoken in over fourteen years I still thought that it might help you find me, and lo and behold it did.
I am humbled and flattered that you like it. If only there was a quality song that featured your own home state.
In terms of not knowing what to do about it, well I think you did. Look at us now.
We both know that being together, at this time, is not an option. We have discussed the cliché “never say never” as well as having hope. If I ever get the chance to be in your arms again, I don’t think I could ever leave them. I know I wouldn’t want to. That thought actually frightens and exhilarates me at the same time
Realistically, I know how I feel about you. I also know that I would take the risk of being hurt again if the opportunity arises to be together once more. Also, if I were honest, I am still dealing with the past hurt. I am chipping away at the stone, and then you come along and whack it with a sledgehammer. The fact that you are wanting and willing to help me smash old baggage melts my heart.
I love you so much.
I know we cannot be together. I see no way that fact will change. You tell me “never say never” and I want to believe you, even though my brain tries to deny it. However in my heart all hope is not extinguished. I want to be with you my Darling, even though I think it unlikely. Your choice of frightened and exhilarating is perfect. My fear of failure is palpable. To hurt you once more would send me into a spiral of depression. One from which I may never recover.
To hold you in my arms again? That thought has me almost in tears. Like almost fifteen years ago, the one hurdle we had to face was the physical. Unlike then, we now know of our compatibility. While I think if we were ever to be in the same room together both of our anxieties would be swept aside. The lead up to that first meeting though would be both excruciating and intense. I am not sure I would be in any way sensible or articulate as I awaited that day.
Yes, I know there is past hurt for you to deal with. I will help in any way that I can. If at the end of that process you decide that we can just be friends, well it will make me sad but I will understand. I inflicted a hurt of great enormity. To be at this point at all truly astounds me. For it to go any further would be a miracle. I am not that lucky my Darling, that was always some other guy.
You’ve told me numerous times one of the reasons you ditched me was because you no longer believed in us. In my head, I think proximity was a big part of your thinking. I was across the ocean. She was there. You could have sex with her; so you did. Then once you made your bed, you decided to lie in it completely. End of story.
What I have trouble with is when you’ve told me that you tried to make her into me. You talked to her like she was me, which obviously didn’t go well at all. How could it? You’ve said to me, “She wasn’t you Darling.” To which I want to respond, “And your first clue was?” She wasn’t and isn’t me. She sounds like my polar opposite, which just dumbfounds me that you ended up married to her. At the risk of sounding conceited, I cannot be replaced – ever. She never could have been me, and it galls me that you even tried.
One thing that hurts a lot is that you married her in “our” place. I remember your message telling me that little factoid. I guess telling me over the phone was too hard; plus we were just beginning to talk again. This actually isn’t a criticism. It’s just how it played out.
I am not even sure how to report to you about how I’m handling all this news to date. In the beginning it was information overload and it made my head spin: you married “her,” you were unhappy, your marriage was a farce, she was an alcoholic, she loved being wealthy and spending your money, she disliked your parents, she was unfaithful, her family was/is crazy, you knew on your wedding day that you married the wrong woman, you regretted letting me go, I was “the one who got away.”
That last one made me raise my eyebrow. I didn’t “get away.” You pushed me away, and that still hurts. It hurts us both. I should be happy to hear this after all these years, but I don’t feel happy about it all. I want to say, “Well you got what you deserved,” but did I? Did I deserve it too? I believed you. I missed out on having you in my life even as a friend. I missed your larger-than-life personality. I missed you. And that sucks.
I never realized how fast fourteen and a half years could go by.
My Dear Sad Darling
I was not sure that there was an “us” anymore my sweet. The space that “we” occupied had become empty. That is not an excuse just an observation. I could have easily found out, I just didn’t.
Proximity may have played a part, but I think availability was the critical factor. I can honestly say that I did not pursue, woo or in any way try to attract “her.” She quite literally threw herself at me.
I was devastated by what I had done. I was no longer worthy of you or your love. Yes I tried to turn her into you. There was not a chance that would happen. She was not you. I was just lying to myself and trying to distract myself from the reality of my awful deed. You could never be replaced. I knew that. I knew there would never be another you, so I didn’t really care who I was with. They would always run a very poor second.
Having said all that, after it all went pear shaped my desire for affection, to feel love, to give love, to share love, became almost ghost like. You have made much of my many previous partners, my tally has barely been added to. This has occurred for a variety of reasons, not least however by the fact that I barely tried to engage.
Yes I threw away 14 plus years of us, both as friends and lovers. I can’t give those back to either of us, despite it being my most fervent wish. I want to cry out that we should make the most of now and the future. You however are not a point to embrace that for reasons that are self evident. If and when you are, I will be here. I like to think that I learn from my mistakes.
I just wanted you to know something simple and pure. When I see a message alert on my phone and upon checking it, I see that it’s you – it thrills me to my core. My stomach flips, and my heart races. I feel flushed. I am giddy like a school girl, and it’s all because I know you’re there.
When you call and say “Hey Baby,” I get weak-kneed. You do this to me Sir. You make me blush. You heighten all my senses. You make me giggle and scoff, and you keep me on my toes.
I think about you all the time.
Carry on sweetheart, carry on.
I love to send you messages, though sometimes they seem inadequate. I still would rather hear your voice though. It is nice to know that as we sit before our computers, often composing this very blog, that you are just a message away. We remain silent for extended periods then one of us will comment. I can feel the love.
I adore the messages I receive from you, especially when I rehearse. I leave the phone on silent but still clearly visible on my music stand. When you text bomb it makes me smile. Fortunately you have never made me lose my place or add some extra notes, but I know full well that day will come.
Food played a massive part in your time here. One of your first and most memorable culinary adventures was your experience with oysters. Really in this case it should be singular and not plural, so from henceforth I shall refer to it as oyster. On your second day we rode a Sydney Harbour ferry to Watsons Bay. This is a fairly exclusive suburb populated by the well to do. It is also home to an iconic Sydney seafood restaurant named Doyles. It was here we dined, and where you had your first experience with the dreaded oyster.
I know I goaded you into eating one. I always order mine natural and just have some cracked pepper and fresh lemon with them. Normally when someone first tries oysters I suggest they have them cooked (not raw) either Kilpatrick or mornay is often the safest bet. I feel a little guilty knowing I ordered them natural for you. You no doubt had your dander up and I was responding in kind. The look of disgust on your face was priceless. Your desire to show no fear was a delight. Your attempt to eat one was simply magic. Your failure to do so was my personal triumph (does that read like an advertisement for MasterCard?) What I think I enjoyed the most though was your description. After your brave attempt to swallow ONE oyster, it still brings tears of laughter to my eyes. Your words: “It was like a reverse loogie!”
I can actually hear your laughter ringing in my ears as I read your words. You, Sir, are evil incarnate. I had told you that I liked oyster soup, so I guess you assumed that I would like the raw, slimy version. There is a huge difference between the cooked versus the raw kind. I still think you had an ulterior motive, my love.
I distinctly recall you telling me to just try one, and if I didn’t like it you’d happily consume the rest. I think I just realized your ulterior motive. I remember looking at the platter in dismay and at the gelatinous globs of slime thinking, “You want me to swallow that?!” Then I glanced at your face, and I knew you would not best me. Even though your face was sincere and solemn, the twinkle in your eye was a dead give-a-way.
You demonstrated the correct way to slurp that sucker down. You lifted the shell to your lips and gobbled it in one swift movement. You made it look easy enough. I reached for a shell and you picked up your second one. I believe you said cheers, and we clinked the shells together. I followed suit and attempted to have my first raw oyster.
Words can never express the horror of that moment. I shudder to this very day remembering the feeling and texture of that lump of snot that got wedged in my throat. I started gagging and choking. I couldn’t get it up or down. In between your fits of laughter, you thumped me on the back in an effort to help me extricate that vile piece of mucous. I finally dislodged it from my mouth and spat it on the ground in disgust. A stray dog hurried over and lapped it up, adding to my revulsion. As you correctly stated, I announced to you that it felt like a reverse loogie!
You kindly offered to order me some other delicacy, but my appetite had vanished completely. I was suspicious at this point, knowing you’d order me something else just as nasty. In an attempt to quell your mirth and to wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, I remember telling you that I wouldn’t kiss a mouth that ate raw oysters. You just smiled and knew I was bluffing, because you leaned over and laid one on me right then and there.
Your kiss was nearly enough to make me forget this incident – nearly. You’re such a devil.
You have told the story of meeting my mother elsewhere. At the time you met her, we were staying in what was once a beautiful boutique hotel called Casuarina Country Inn & Restaurant. It is nestled amongst over laden grape wines with a mountain range majestically dominating the skyline from our front door. The photo below just doesn’t do it justice. I know we googled it recently and read some of its reviews. It has clearly fallen on hard times and has seen better days. That was not its problem when we stayed there. When we took up residence they had nine exquisitely appointed theme suites. These were fitted out in various styles including British Empire, Australian Colonial, Japanese Imperial and even French Bordello. We however didn’t stay in one of the themed rooms though; we stayed in a self contained cottage.
One of the principal reasons I wanted to take you to Casuarina was to enjoy the restaurant. It was one of the few places still trading where you could experience full guéridon dining. I don’t think you were familiar with the style. I remember explaining that the chef comes to the table with the ingredients already prepared and a portable stove. They then cook your meal before your very eyes. You sometimes still see it with simple dishes such as Crepe Suzette and Steak Dianne, but it is increasingly rare if not unheard for an entire menu to be devoted to this style of service. I had dined there before and really wanted to treat to you to this spectacle. It saddens me to say I don’t remember one jot of it. I was so nervous that my mother was meeting you, that I don’t recall a thing from that meal.
Until now however I have avoided the crux of this story. What, may you ask, do they not build like they used to? I know you have the answer. If you’re not giggling right now there must be something very wrong. You know, because you laid beside me on that broken device. Having dealt with meeting my mother, we needed to blow off some steam. We adjourned to our bed, and for some reason we ended up naked. We partook in some vigorous horizontal folk dancing and the bed imploded. The bed we were “sleeping in” collapsed under the strain and there we were with our heads towards the floor and our feet in the air. Just to be clear this wasn’t a weight related structural failure. I blame you!
Back Achingly Yours
From Sir With Love
My Dear Destructive Sir,
I am blushing at the content of this letter, but I shall muddle through it.
Oddly enough I remember the Casuarina very well. The clubhouse we stayed in was huge with 3 bedrooms and vintage furniture. It was a delightful, quaint place. We had visited your father in the hospital earlier that day, and we were getting ready to go out for the evening.
I know you were extremely nervous having dinner with your mom and her friend, plus the strain of having your father in the hospital didn’t help with your anxiety. I was just happy to be with you.
I was familiar with sitting around a grill while having a chef cook dinner, but this dining experience was quite a bit different; I thank you for it. Unfortunately, I don’t recall the details of this evening either. I do remember while I was getting ready to go out, I discovered that I had brought the wrong shoes. I had left the ones I wanted back at your house in Merrylands (a suburb of Sydney). You reassured me that my shoes were fine. I never worry over shoes; your tension was rubbing off on me.
After seeing your father, we came back to our lodgings to (as you so aptly stated) blow off some steam. I remember rubbing your shoulders and your hands wandered all over my body. As things got intense, we had a shocking jolt. Our bed broke! The head of our bed had disconnected from the headboard, and we tilted! Our heads were down nearly on the floor and our feet up towards the ceiling. I was aghast, but then you started laughing hysterically. I am sure I joined in the laughing spree after I got over my embarrassment. You pushed the bed back together, and we changed rooms. I am not sure how much tension was relieved for you, but it wasn’t for lack of trying!
I love the picture of the bed pre our destruction. I am not sure if I made eye contact with you during dinner after we broke that damn bed, but you kept your hand on my knee under the table. (See a pattern- damn noise, damn bed?) Of course you blame me, I am a seductress. *wink wink*
You wrote to me a while back about sending me those first Three Songs. I listen to them frequently. I responded in kind and sent you some songs as well. I sent each one for specific reasons.
The first song that I sent you was “The Reason” by Hoobastank. I was driving in my car coming home from work when it came on the radio. We had just reconnected a few days prior, and I was still trying to process everything we had talked about. I was feeling a myriad of feelings – hurt, loss, anger, resentment, confusion, vindication (not proud of this one), anxiety, hesitancy, even happiness at finding you again.
I had heard the song before, but this time was different. I had to pull over because the music was haunting and the lyrics were overwhelming me. I felt like you were next to me holding my hand telling me to listen closely to the words. I felt shaky. My heart hurt. I listened and heard. I wept.
The next song I sent you was by The Calling – “Wherever You Will Go.” These lyrics were just as poignant especially the lines:
I know now, just quite how
My life and love might still go on
In your heart, in your mind
I’ll stay with you for all of time
It’s amazing how words put to beautiful music can have an effect on me. This song was no exception. This song hurt my heart too.
I sent you “An American Girl” by Bonnie McKee simply because I wanted you to remember with whom you were dealing (haha). I am a hot-blooded American girl, and you damn well know it.
I love the song “My Wish” by Rascal Flatts. I love most music genres which includes a bit of country. I knew I wanted to send you that song, because it’s how I feel. I want the best for you. I wish you all the good things in life. A couple of the lines in the song hit me rather hard though.
And if you’re faced with the choice and you have to choose
I hope you choose the one that means the most to you
To hear you say years later that you made the wrong choice, well that’s just a hard pill to swallow. You gave me no choice, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have always loved you. I want you to always remember the line “If it’s cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile,” because more than anything I wish for you to be happy. I always tell you to smile for me.
I remember you told me how this song affected you. I was a bit surprised, although I’m not sure why. I believed you though.
When I first heard the Betty Who song “Somebody Loves You,” I knew I wanted to send it to you, and NOT because she is Australian. I was thrilled you hadn’t heard it yet.
Somebody loves you Sir. Somebody always has and always will. I missed you when you were away. I never really thought we’d speak again. It’s still surreal to me.
My Musical Darling
As is often your want you have chosen an eclectic selection of tunes. Music has a raw beauty that the written word alone often cannot match. As you would send me more music I would add your selections to a playlist on my phone and depending on my mood I would stream my Darling’s mix.
I must confess to not keeping myself entirely current with contemporary music. I was actually only familiar with two of the tunes on your list above. The Australian artist, Betty Who, had entirely slipped under my radar. I enjoyed your choices and the lyrics were of course not lost on me.
The Rascal Flatts number I would have had little chance of discovering. I am not much of a fan when it comes to the country genre, but every now and then a song slips through that I can’t help but like. This quickly became one of those rarities. Again the poignant lyrics hit home, and the lines you highlighted of course resonated strongly with me.
“American Girl” I was not familiar with, but is has an incredible joie de verve and it neatly sums up your spirit in song form. When ever I picture you with that belligerent look on your face, I can see your jaw thrust out and your demeanour shouting at the world “I DARE YOU!.” Well this is my soundtrack to those times. I love it.
The remaining songs are just gut wrenching. I was quite familiar with them both before you sent them. However they had merely been background ephemera, and I’d never payed them close attention. When you sent them I hurt. In a way the circumstances of their arrival and what we were both going through at the time only added to the heartache. It was at some ungodly hour in the morning (something like 3.30am I think), and we were frantically texting; it was getting quite heated and emotional.
You were travelling to see a child off who would not return home for eighteen months. It was just a little over two weeks after we had reconnected, and we were both in the process of trying to come to grips with our contact. We were also catching up on the past fourteen and a half years of one another’s lives. What we had studiously avoided (or at least I had studiously avoided) was any mention of your current circumstances and what our collective future might hold.
I had a spate of wedding ceremonies to perform around this time. I knew I had one on the following day. I desperately needed some sleep, but I had become too agitated by our conversation, even though we were only text messaging. You sent me The Calling’s “Wherever You Will Go.” I remember crying at the meaning of the lyrics. You then sent me the Hoobastank number “The Reason.” I was literally sobbing uncontrollably, taking huge gulps of air between the physical manifestations of my remorse, my outpourings, and my tears.
You told me how they had affected you, then went on to explain why we could not be together. I had no right to expect that we should but all the same I became desolate. I said some stupid and some hurtful things, because I did not deal with the news at all well. These two songs will be forever associated with my own unforgiveable behaviour towards you. They had a profound impact in that realm alone. They will also always be a trigger to my receipt of some of the worst news of my life, that we were not to be together. Whenever I hear them now (and it is frequently as I often play your song list) that brutal moment of realisation hits home. My actions of almost fifteen years ago have come home to roost. It was my stupid choice to lose you then. But now there is sadly no choice at all as I know we cannot be.
We have already referred to the entertainments you provided on our roads (Driving). What we haven’t mentioned was how we actually hired that car in the first place.
In readiness for your big arrival I had investigated car rental companies. You and I had discussed hiring a car and you had confidently asserted that you would have no trouble driving on the wrong side of the road. I think you scoffed and basically told me you were looking forward breaking every traffic law as you understood them from your North American perspective.
Well I tracked down a suitable rental agency on the outskirts of the city. Bayswater Car Rentals was the company’s name. I had booked in advance and we sallied forth first by train and then by taxi to Bayswater Road, Kings Cross, New South Wales. Now I hope my Darling that you see the similarities here – Bayswater Road and Bayswater Car Rentals. Now I had hired a car from these people before and they were located where their name suggests. So there we were in the back of a cab ready to pick up our vehicle. We drove three full lengths of Bayswater Road looking for the premises but to no avail; they were no longer located there. I was getting more than a little agitated. You just held my hand and smiled and, my anger abated.
We jumped out of the cab near a public phone box. Remember the days prior to having a search engine on your smart phone? If you needed to find a location, you would find the nearest public telephone booth, hope it still contained a directory and trust that the directory still had the necessary page so you could find what you were looking for. We did all this and attended the premises to pick up our rental car. The rental was refused.
I, as you no doubt remember, didn’t have a license at that time. It was however my credit card that we would be securing the vehicle with. Even though I had explained this over the phone at the time of booking (and they authorized it then), we were told in person that it was not acceptable, and that they would not be able to rent us a car. I went ballistic. I am not normally one quick to anger, but when I do lose my cool it is probably best to be in another postcode.
As you may know Darling when angered two things happen. Firstly there will be the calm before the storm, then the volcano will erupt. I listened patiently to the clerk’s futile attempts to deal with the issue. I then asked to speak to a more senior person within the organisation to vent my spleen, sadly to no avail. What tipped me over the edge however was when the staff member I spoke to interrupted, admitted they had spoken to me on the phone, agreed that I had explained our situation, and that they had stated we could hire a car. I was then blown off in the most flippant of manners as if the fact that we had travelled 40 minutes by train and by cab to pick up the car was some small trifle (along with the fact that we had confirmed hotel bookings that required a car for us to attend).
It was at this point that my temper went thermo nuclear. Friends will tell you that they can gauge my anger by the verbosity and complexity of my language. The angrier I get the higher the level of comprehension skills required by the listener. I was so irate and indignant it would have required the services of several ivy league English departments to translate my displeasure. Suffice it to say we left sans car. Throughout it all you held my hand and just smiled.
When it was over my heart was racing, and I was ready to go round two with whomever tried to get in my way. You leaned up and kissed me on the cheek, still smiling the entire time. You washed all my anger away with your kiss. It was then, not that I really harboured any doubt, that I realised you must be the one. No one, and I mean no one, could make my hostility subside in such a way.
Well we hired a car from another agency about ten minutes from my door. We reorganised the hotel bookings and went on to have the most magical two weeks of my life.
I loved you then as I love you now, absolutely.
You Will Always Be My Darling
From Sir With Love
My Dear Understandably Frustrated Sir,
I had forgotten about this incident until you asked me about it, then it all came back with clarity. I found the second-rate car rental place left much to be desired. I distinctly remembered how unprofessional they were, and their customer service was non-existent.
I realized that you were a man of organization. You were very thorough. To have arranged the car rental well ahead of time, explained the circumstances, given authorization prior to going to the business, then to have been denied in person for really no reason was ludicrous. You were reasonably upset. I didn’t blame you. There was no supervisor readily available to talk to. You were dealing with inept and amateurish idiots. Being in the corporate business yourself, you couldn’t fathom a company being run the way they ran theirs. Your expectations were high, because that is what you were used to. You radiated authority, and they were intimidated. They were clearly out of their league when it came to you.
I didn’t give a rip about the employees, but I cared about you. I couldn’t fix the problem. I just didn’t want you to be upset for the rest of the day.
I do recall kissing your cheek, and you looking down at me smiling in response. I saw you visibly relax. You squeezed my hand. It was then we both knew that, no matter the outcome, things would be alright as long as we were together.
You found another car rental place, and we were able to lease that adorable white, Toyota Seca which became the bane of my existence (haha). As for breaking all the driving laws in Australia – I just regret not breaking one, my love; the one where we tested how far back those seats could recline.
After your quite restless, jet lagged and noise disturbed first night we then had our first day together. You had nowhere near enough sleep and I feared you may fall apart but you wanted to embrace this new world and embrace it we did.
Transport was the first issue. We were heading for the city so we jumped a bus at the end of my street then hopped a train to Circular Quay, maybe 45 minutes in total. You were excited by the bus. I laughed. That bus was a chore, a right royal pain in the rear end, but you were enchanted. Then on to the train, which was almost empty. It took us right where we needed to be. You seemed pretty impressed by that as well.
I watched you like a hawk, waiting for you to fall apart under the strain of jet lag and insufficient sleep. Plus I just liked watching you. I wasn’t entirely satisfied you were real. I thought maybe you were an apparition and that I would wake up and be stuck in Yahoo chat with everyone laughing at me.
We took a quick stroll around the harbour foreshore. It was a beautifully cloudless autumn day, a slight breeze was in the air and the love of my life was by my side. You were ready for lunch so we grabbed a table at a cafe right on the harbour and proceeded to order. It was funny. A quite young girl was serving us. She came up and introduced herself. She had an American accent. It was clearly fake. I was laughing.
Youngsters here in Australia have often attempted to try and sound a little more sophisticated by adopting a North American accent. I cringed; I was desperately hoping you wouldn’t notice. What would you think of us in this cultural backwater? I mean how embarrassing? I had to tell you though. Man it was so bad.
I have no idea what we ate. I know we had planned to stroll through “The Rocks,” a historical tourist precinct. You didn’t make it. A wall of exhaustion descended on you. I hailed a cab and we motored home.
You Will Always Be My Darling
From Sir With Love
Sir My Love,
I remember waking quite early (before the sun was up) despite my lack of sleep. I felt energized and ready to take on the day. How utterly young and naïve was I? You were game. You jumped out of bed and said, “Let’s do it.” You catered to my every whim, though I suspect you knew what would happen to me later that day. You didn’t complain; you just planned on taking care of me. You were so perfect.
Yes, I was so excited to take a bus and train as I was not used to public transportation. You just smiled, held my hand, and led me on this new adventure. I was like a kid in a candy shop. As I stated in “Driving,” my recent journey to Japan and their public transportation system wasn’t a novel approach to me because of my experience in Sydney with you.
I remember walking around the harbor and the little café where we dined. We watched the ferries come and go. I had forgotten about the waitress until you reminded me. I wasn’t paying particular attention to her (as you were the object of my interest), but I do remember she was hovering over me and around me. I couldn’t figure out why until you pointed out her fake accent. We laughed, and I thought she was very weird after that. Now I’m beginning to wonder which one of us that waitress was trying to impress (I’m raising my eyebrow here).
And my love, Sydney is anything but a cultural backwater place. It’s a thriving, diverse metropolis that came second to you. You were my Sydney man, and we both know how educated and intelligent you are.
I recall walking around with you after lunch when I felt my knees buckle and the world tipped. I had run out of steam. I felt dizzy and a bit nauseous. You didn’t even hesitate in responding. You hailed a cab, tucked me in the backseat, and let me rest my head on your shoulder as we headed home. I didn’t have a worry in the world; you were in charge. You enveloped me and made me feel special.
Thank you for being a wonderful example of a true gentleman by taking care of me and making me feel like a lady.