Patio Four – The Quick Witted “Brit Ish” Bird

What started as a spontaneous “sure, why not” has somehow become something I look forward to. The people are different, the drinks are hit or miss, and the conversations range from awkward small talk to life stories told through saucepans.

We had been texting for about almost two months, which is two months longer than I spend texting patio meet ups. It long enough to discover we had a mutual friend and that we narrowly missed each other at a party once and almost ended up on the same softball team.

That’s the thing about Elle, she doesn’t let me get away with anything and that’s something I really like. She’s an Enneagram 7, which explains the energy, the cleverness and the joy she brings.

One night I sent her a text letting her know, statistically, why we probably wouldn’t be a match. Not in a cynical way, just practical. She replied with, “For fu$k’s sake, Annie” And that shut it down. I laughed, but then I paused. That kind of emotional detachment isn’t really my norm. Where was my default optimism? The part of me that believes something good is just around the corner?

I had to find out. According to a random psychology article I found online, after being in a relationship where you’re constantly bracing for emotional whiplash, your body can start to read peace as danger. Like, “Hey this feels nice. Let’s panic.” Interesting. Noted. Will discuss in therapy on Monday.

We decided to meet on a Friday night and kept it simple The Avondale Tap. She ordered an Aperol spritz. I stuck with my usual gin drink. I love the food, I love the vibe, I love the people… and I still haven’t had a drink there I actually enjoy.

When I walked up to Elle, I felt like I should explain the fanny pack I was wearing was geeky, which was already obvious. “You do know that fanny means vagina in Great Britain, right?” And just like that, the tone for the night was set.

Of course, the women next to us wanted to pet Pogo. The weather was warm and yet for reasons unclear to me, I wore a t-shirt with a long sleeve shirt over it. I was pouring sweat.

But I played it cool. Yes, pun intended. Obviously. 

At some point, I told her the last four years of my life, unplanned, while somehow weaving saucepans into it. I didn’t realize how deeply cookware had shaped my past relationships until that night. It somehow has, from my divorce to my recent breakup. She listened.

When she asked what I had for dinner, I didn’t want to tell her. But she insisted. “A Pop-Tart” I finally admitted. She repeated it back with genuine concern. So I tried to explain, “Well, that was more like an appetizer. I also had…” and then I couldn’t even say it. “Oh, please do,” she urged. “Ramen noodles,” I confessed between deep laughs.  “Aren’t those the noodles you just add water to?”

And just like that, the conversation spiraled into a full lesson on English muffins, muffins, scones, and crumpets. I loved every minute of it.

Elle kept me laughing. Her timing is on point. She also had me fully convinced that people in the UK celebrate “Treason Day” on July 4th. I spent a solid thirty seconds trying to understand how they’d celebrate that. I can tell you it is not by grilling hot dogs. She’s smart, she’s well traveled, everything she says sounds lovely and she has a big heart. 

We laughed all night. At one point I asked if she could change a tire on her own, because I don’t know why, I just needed to know. Those are the random conversations we have that lead down so many other paths. I didn't have romantic feelings toward Elle, but she's a good person.

Another great patio meetup. There’s something really cool about meeting a stranger on a summer evening, especially one who feels familiar and one who keeps up and truthfully, requires me to keep up. Not a common occurrence.

That night, I found myself reflecting, not just on the night, but on how far I’ve come. I was the kid with selective mutism. The one who sat alone at lunch. The “odd” one. I never imagined I’d grow up to be someone who would willingly sit across from strangers and share stories over a gin drink.

But here I am.

Every morning, I get out of bed, look out the window and say (with more enthusiasm than Pogo appreciates): “Pogo, we live in Chicago!” And I mean it. I’m genuinely excited to find out what the day holds.

If you’re reading this and feeling like the “odd one,” here’s what I’ll say: keep showing up. If you stay true to yourself, you’ll find the right people and you’ll realize you’re not the odd one at all and you never were.