So, if you know me at all or follow me on Facebook, you I am dipping my toe into the dating pool. I’d like to say I’m diving in, but I’m pretty sure my definition of “diving in” is more like wading in the shallow end. That in mind, I’ll just say I’m giving it a try and making an honest effort.

Here’s a bit of background for those new to the badly written soap-operatic drama that is my life.

I broke up with my on-again-off-again boyfriend of more than two years just before Thanksgiving.

Background to the background: We were each other’s prom dates when we were 17. Fast-forward 20-plus years to 2015 and we decided to give the long-distance couple thing a go. He left me just before Christmas of 2016. We got back together a few months later. I left him just before Thanksgiving. We started chatting via Messenger – our main method of communication – last month.

So, in a rather epic plot twist that surprised me, he drove five hours last Friday to take me to a movie on Saturday. It was a good date. He’s easy to be with. Except when he’s not. The same can totally be said of me.

Before the plot twisted, I had planned a date with a man I met on Match — my first Match date. I had been texting with two other men, but they both “met someone” and that was the end of that.

I also had a lovely experience with some super nice people who felt it necessary to expound on horrors of my weight. I get it. I’m fat. This is no secret.

I didn’t like their profiles. They didn’t like mine. But they felt compelled to message me out of the blue about how hideous I am and how I don’t belong on Match blah, blah, blah.

This is not Figaro and me. It could be. But’s it’s not.

After a little break to lick my wounds, I went back and started chatting with Match1. That’s what I’ll call him for now.

We went on our first date last night and had a really good time. He seems very kind, has a great smile and is easy to talk to. We delved into topics that usually aren’t first-date fodder. I now know quite a bit about his past relationships. The time flew by as he kicked my butt at various games at Dave and Buster’s.

It went very well overall, I’d say.

I can see you thinking. Go ahead. Say what you’re dying to say.

“I know you, Cat, which means you must have done something at least a little bit embarrassing.”

What’s that supposed to mean???

“Well, you’re you. Weird and embarrassing stuff happens to you.”

Fine. You’re right. It does. And, of course, it did.

While we were talking, I had my hands wrapped around my water glass on the table. When I went to say something, which naturally involved my hands because (duh!) I cannot speak without using my hands, I somehow managed to flip my straw down the front of my top.

It was quite a perfect shot. Nothin’ but net. And the straw stuck the landing.

It was no surprise that his focus was instantly … pulled. To the straw sticking out of my V-neck top.

I gracefully recovered by saying, “Wow! I guess my boobs were thirsty!”

Get your face out of your palm! You asked!

At least it wasn’t like my first date in college when I slid down the stairs on my butt and landed in a heap at the guy’s feet.

Anyway, we had a good laugh at my expense. Several, actually, as I demonstrated my wickedly impressive ineptness at various games. I personally think we need an air hockey rematch and I totally want another go at the Kung Fu Panda thing. (Those suckers are workouts!)

We haven’t set anything up yet, but I’m pretty sure Match1 and I will go out again. Possibly for the aforementioned rematch. Or maybe burgers and a movie. We’ll see.

Was it a love connection? I don’t know yet. But we had fun. Isn’t that the goal of dating?

Even more impressive, to me anyway, is that I went. I overcame the introvert thing, screwed my courage to the sticking place and ventured out to meet a now former stranger.

Figaro has a such a way with facial expressions. He gets me.

It gets easier, right? Even for somebody who prefers her cat-kid to many (if not most) people? Being an extroverted introvert is a bitch. The struggle is real. But, like I always say, I’m a work in progress. And for now, part of that progress is dating.

One down. Three to go. Did I forget to mention the gauntlet thrown by a friend? Four dates (four different guys) in four weeks.

I’m on board with the four dates part, but it might take me a little longer than the friend, who wishes to remain anonymous, envisions.

For those asking about the ex, yes, I’m going to see him again, too. That’s not planned, yet, either.

Not much is when I think about it. I’m kinda playing it by ear.

Weird, right?

Stay tuned…