Of Rice and Men

Back from China – including a gruelling 10 km trek of an unrestored part of the Great Wall -- to find my BMI is now "overweight" instead of "obese." Or, in the polite British terms of the web site I’m using to track my weight, I’m "at risk" instead of "at great risk." Yay!

(For all you diet blogger/readers, I’m also officially back in onederland, something I was starting to doubt would ever happen.)

I’m still mulling over China, mostly the 2.5 days I spent with a lovely Kiwi guy I met just after I gave up on the Forbidden City (my hands were freezing through my gloves). He invited me to travel to Shanghai with him, but I was in Beijing visiting a friend, and – even at 31 and single, or maybe because I’m 31 and single -- I don’t believe in ditching one’s friends the minute a guy shows up. Besides, a 12-hour train ride for two days in Shanghai? And how could I go to China and not climb the Great Wall (something I’d miss out on doing if I went to Shanghai)? And because he had a penchant for saying "far out" to things that weren't, really, that I knew would irritate me in another day or so. And because of a dozen other things, small and yet cosmic.

The Kiwi has given me a lot to think about in terms of what I want, not limited to but including men I’ve been interested in in the past, and those I might be in the future. I adore funny and brilliant and preferably tall, and he was none of those. He was just… nice. Incredibly nice. The kind of guy for whom the description "a good guy" really is intended.

Can I also say that I’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone listen – really listen – to every word you say? As in, "oh, that’s the friend you mentioned in passing an hour ago" kind of listening?