Defining relationships, especially new ones, is fraught with peril.

But, I can say, without hesitation, that I am now dating the Editor.

For me, “dating” conveys an expectation of privilege: he is the first person I would call if I had an invite to something. I would expect to see him every weekend.

This morning, he sent me an email from a party.  This was his entire note: “Not necessarily my thing, but I RSVP’d anyway, which means they’ll put me +1 on the guestlist.”

That was it.

And, that pretty much told me we’re on the same page. 

It is the same thing I would do.

Were I to have said no, he would have likely asked someone else if it were something to which he wanted to go, or we would have found something else to do.

There is no expectation of exclusivity. We are not sexually active, so there is no expectation of monogamy.  But we do have an expectation of presence.  That on a regular basis, we will go on dates.

Yesterday, I began combing through my invites, looking for parties to which I could bring him.  My calendar is filled with parties and events and concerts and I am excited that I will have a plus-one for stuff.  And one I really enjoy.

“Dating the Editor.”

I like it.

And this falls a year after I met the Bon Vivant.  This all feels different than that. This feels better, more planned, more stable.  I like knowing I will see him on Saturday.  It enables me to schedule out the rest of my week and to make sure I am free.  The rest of my schedule gets chaotic, this is a fixed point.

I know that, as with the big event, when things arise, I will pass along invites — I have a ticket for you, are you in? — and, likely, he will be.