Inquiring minds all around . . . It wasn't my Eye Candy Friday post so much as all your comments on it that sparked another fascinating conversation with my beau. He was a little incredulous that so many of you a) read my blog and b) took the time to comment. The collective you had all sorts of questions, and J had a whole host of his own. Still protesting that he didn't "get" blogging, he had me go through your comments (and questions).
. . . Then he proceeded to badger me about why I won't knit him socks. Clearly, it's time for a collective Q&A session.
Q: If Stephanie, Nikki, and Knitzalot all think I can make him socks, why won't I?
A: Ladies, don't tell him this, but it's the size 12 feet. Maybe I'm spoiled, but my feet are about half the size of his. Plus, that whole jinx thing. I've heard it said that
While Rachel joined in the above call for sock knitting, she was emphatic: "I need more specs!"
Q: Does he go by J, or are you just using his initial?
A: Both. His name starts with J, so I call him J in real life and now on the blog. He calls me T, among other things. All flattering, of course.
Q: How did you meet? Is he in your residency program? Your year?
A1: Ah, yes. My boyfriend, the Navy doctor. (OK, so I'm a Navy doctor, too. But it does have a certain ring to it, doesn't it?) First, the objective details - he's a surgery intern here. He's about 10 weeks older than me and he outranks me by exactly 2 days. To add to the fun, in this current seven day span, one or both of us is on call 4/7 days. Isn't it wonderful that we can bond over all these shared experiences?
A2: And the subjective. You wouldn't think that how we met would be such a subject of controversy, would you? Let's work backwards: We recognized each other when we came to San Diego in June. We definitely knew each other as medical students at Naval Medical Center - Portsmouth (Virginia) last October, probably because we had met - if only briefly - when we were both here in San Diego last September. It turns out, however, that we attended Officer Indoctrination School ( yes, they do call it that with a straight face) together about three years ago. J is pretty convinced that we met there. I have absolutely no recollection of this. That might be forgivable, except that my mom remembers meeting him at our OIS graduation. What are the odds he'll ever let me forget that one (for a second time . . .)? Shireen, do you still think we're moving fast?
Turing back to some of J's questions. . .
Q: Aren't you worried about meeting scary predators online?
A: No. Aren't you worried that my dad had the same concern? Sheesh.
Q: So how much of your personal life is on the blog?
A: Knitting is a metaphor for life. Plus, my mom reads my blog.
He began to seem mildly reassured after pursuing this line of questioning. He thought the tone I hit with the Eye Candy Friday post was good. Just the right combination of what Liz calls "smitten-ness" and reserved humor. So after my protestations that no parolees named Bubba had ever tried to contact me via Knitting Underway, he began wrestling with exactly how these blogs function. Public space. Private space. Somewhere in the middle. (I told you he was a smart one.) Expect some inspired navel-grazing on the meaning and nature of blogging later this week. In the meantime, I'll finish up with one last Q&A.
Q: "Maybe in a month he can have a dishcloth," queried Elizabeth. More enthusiastic, Cindy thought that could be 10.
A: He doesn't need his own dishcloths. He has full and unrestricted access to my dishcloth drawer. Yes, ladies, you heard correctly. My cute-brilliant-Navy-doctor boyfriend? He also does dishes.