It was in September 2021, and the autumn cold crawled. Since the first days of the Covid-19 Pandemia, I had chained my 350-square-foot study apartment in Miracle Mile, supervising two dogs that could not get along. I felt trapped, and the sensation rose by metal bars in my windows.
At the end of 2020, he had conducted 300 miles to rescue a pandemic puppy from Tijuana. I called him brave, Spanish for “brave.” He was terrified by men and was prone to barking and throwing them. I could not have visitors in my study despite my efforts to train both of them to cohabit. Val tried to cease to get my older dog, Bunny Bear, get involved, since he wanted to run and play as a typical puppy. Unfortunately, one night, when Bunny had had enough, she took out a snout from her snout. Since then, Val was attached to my hips for fear of Bunny's anger.
I sank more in depression. I was looking forward to my weekly therapy sessions, since they provided me with one of my only sources of intelligent human conversation. My therapist suggested to go to an appointment application. I relied to give it another chance.
I click on the reactivated button on my Bumble account, and a young man appeared from Boston. I slim on the right and apparently he did. He aroused my interest because he listed the “writer” as his occupation. I am a creator of words, and he writes to make a living.
We both went from the east coast, so we appreciated the relaxed atmosphere of Los Angeles and the temperate climate. I thought I could join words beyond the typical trilliad phrases that the boys would normally launch in these applications: “How was your night, beautiful? Are you alone? I am a great spoon, looking for my little one. Could it be you?”
These types of lines left me feeling hollow. I yearned for a more significant connection, and not just a physics. I longed to experience true love. These applications were a recess patio for people who intend to be anyone who is not themselves to hook a “prize.” Again I faced the discouraging task of sifting through hay batteries looking for a needle, so when Tom suggested that Zoom was all inside. The zoom was another layer in the weeding process, and was curious to know if he was, in fact, a working writer.
We were having a great zoom, and he marked all the boxes. Despite this, I still suspected. At the end of the call, he asked what my availability was so that we could meet in person. He suggested two restaurants: the Mexican restaurant Don Cuco and the most historical Handmark the Smoke House, in front of the Warner Bros. lot I opted for the “safer” bet of the two, Mexican. If I had gone with the high -end place, I'm afraid I could have expected more.
When I met Tom in the restaurant, I was instantly surprised by his strong physicist and his dream blue eyes, with which he smiled. I couldn't stop looking at him. His voice was sexy.
We talked about Los Angeles, and explained that when I moved here, I knew a person and had no job. Within the first three months of arrival, I made my debut working on the James Corden television show at the last minute of the night, I lived in Hollywood and worked at Beverly Hills. It was fast and furious, and I never looked back.
His career was a bit more stable. He went to the film school in Emerson and moved to Burbank when he was 22 years old. He worked up, writing for television and comics. It seemed extremely stable, as if it could be Yin for me Yang. I fell instantly fell in love, and he left me wanting more. This connection went beyond a “spark.”
When we separate, he did not give me his phone number, but said: “You can send me a message in the application if you want. Or not. It depends on you,” then left. I was stunned. Most boys in applications were aggressive. It wasn't. He left the ball on my court, which was refreshing and confusing at the same time.
I did not hear from him for two days, so I made the bold decision to send him a message to see if he wanted to meet that day. I felt safer of the possibility that this was real since I had not pressed for sex. I had the mapping appointment: we were going to lead beautiful Beach, have a drink on the dock, casually walk the beach and eventually reach the water for a first kiss.
For me delight, it developed exactly like that. I could even show some of my Pilates instructor movements in my bikini.
On the car trip home, he turned to me with those irresistible blue eyes and said: “So what do we do now? Will we get married?” I was smiling from ear to ear and hoping that there was some really what he said.
When we arrived in my apartment, I ran to get val for an introduction. I wanted them to be in a neutral territory before bringing it to my department. When Tom leaned down to caress him, Val pounced and bit his leg, drawing blood. I thought I would never see the boy again.
When I heard my phone sound later that night, I was delighted to listen to it was Tom.
The butterflies in my stomach flew with all their strength. He thanked me for the “most perfect appointment” and took off his bite. He said he would love to go out with me again. I was ecstatic that my scheme had worked. It was a great victory.
Fast advance a year later, and I said that the rest of our lives. The escape was supposed to happen in Maui, but forest fires in Lahaina threw a key in our plans. We pivot Oahu and had the most magical wedding on the beach at sunset, in a context of waves and volcanoes. Since then, we joked that our story was “love at the first bite”, and we would not have it otherwise.
The author is a Pilates instructor based in Los Angeles. She lives in Burbank with her husband, Tom, and her puppy, Sparky. She is on Instagram: @jbearinla and @sparktheshark.
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