The circumstances were more than unfortunate, but nature calls in more than one way; when it beckons, you must answer. We were at a funeral. His father’s funeral. I know I should be ashamed of myself — picking up a grieving man and all. In all honesty, though, it would be a big fat lie if I were to say that we hadn’t met before. We had, but things never really took. Or maybe they had taken more than I had realized. Or maybe I was taking advantage of a grieving man. In my defense, if I did take advantage of a grieving man, I didn’t mean to. I really just wanted to be there to support him and his family; especially his mother, who is a beautiful person and a good friend to my mother. If only he weren’t so damn attractive. One inch shy of six feet, he still fits the description of “tall, dark, and handsome.” Chisled features, a strong jaw, smooth olive skin, big brown eyes, perfect lips. He looked so dapper in his pinstriped Zegna suit, his black, textured wool, Hugo Boss toggle coat, and his fine blue shirt.

As an aside, I think I have a fetish for fine men’s dress shirts. I can think of nothing else that is so soft and so masculine at the same time. Except for maybe his bed sheets. And the cufflinks. He wasn’t wearing any that I noticed, but OH, HOW I LOVE CUFFLINKS! But I digress. Or do I? Because what I love about this man is his ability to be both soft and masculine. Sure he dresses well, which is great given my fetish, but he is the personification of a fine woven cotton. Attractive and strong, he can be soft at the same time. Tender, I mean. He is a good man with a good heart. He is a family man. Growing up, his biggest problem was that we would try to make everyone around him happy, meet their expectations, often at his own expense. I’m not saying that he never gave anyone a hard time. In fact, he can be quite the pain in the ass. No one is perfect … but he comes close.

Prior to this funeral, I was ready to — actually, I was more than “ready to.” I was in the PROCESS of — cleansing my life of romance. I had no interest in dating, I loved my life as it was, and I just didn’t have time for men. Dating had become more of an intellectual pursuit (i.e. “Why do people do it?”). I had school, writing, family, friends — with all that, who would have the time to spend on people you don’t already love? Not I. I was definitely happy single, with no desire for romance in my life. But as I said earlier, when nature calls, one must answer.

What started as a funeral continued on to a repast and ended with drinks and dinner in Hoboken. Going from one bar to another, talking about everything under the sun, we finally had the opportunity to connect. After all, if two days of back-to-back, heart-wrenching, Russian Orthodox services don’t wear down your guard, nothing will. We were exhausted, him obviously more than me, but we traipsed down Washington Street like soldiers, going from bar to bar, clutching each other and sharing everything. Dinner followed at a small, dimly-lit Italian restaurant, where we shared a dish of pasta and a small pizza over a bottle of wine. The evening finished two days later, when I finally left his apartment to resume my life in New York.

You know, my mother met my stepfather at a funeral, so this isn’t exactly unchartered waters in my family. Yes, our women apparently have a penchant for taking advantage of grieving men. It just so happened that my mom was married six months later. I think Mr. Zegna and I will take it slower than that. But then again, you never know. I’ll keep you posted.