Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Picky, Picky, Picky

I had a date. Yes a real date. One that was planned ahead of time, confirmed and anticipated. Now let me back up. As you know I joined Match.com which has been mostly a horrific nightmare revealing that the world is populated by freaks in the form of single men. But every once in a while, the nightmare ends and a nice dream begins. This is what happened.

Back in August I was contacted by Neil. Neil. On paper he looks pretty good, but I am becoming pretty jaded at this point. He is a Doctor. He is Jewish. He is 6 feet tall. His photo is not bad looking either. But I am not going to allow my hopes to rise. Past experience dictates that I will be sorely disappointed and slightly repulsed after we go on our first date. But then again, I have nothing else going on, so I reply.

A conversation ensues. And something starts to bother me. I like to write in complete sentences or at least close facsimiles. Neil, on the other hand, writes his emails is a bizarre sort of text speak. There is no punctuation which makes reading said emails, nearly impossible. And I am starting to be concerned that English may be a struggle for him. Or putting together a cohesive thought may be a struggle. But again, on paper Neil fits the bill and my mother would be so thrilled if the second time around I married a Jewish Doctor. But the emails are really bothering me. An example: Sorry Tuesday on call hosp wed thurs k maybe wknd sons hockey started it's very busy schedule

In the meantime my ex-boyfriend, who is also getting divorced, tells me he has moved in with his 25 year old model girlfriend. My stomach turns. Not because I want him, but because it just confirms what I had chosen to ignore. My competition in this market is stiff. I can't compete with the 25 year, unencumbered model. I am 41. I have two kids. I am a mom. It ain't sexy. I am going to have to bring something else to my game in order to put these waify gold digging girls away.

Neil and I email several times before I finally push to meet. I have no patience for the endless email banter. Make a move or go away. It is late August and he is at the beach with his kids on vacation. Chalk up a point for him. Beach and kids. Just my speed. We agree to meet when we are both back in town in early September. On a Wednesday.

The day before the date, I have not heard from him, so I email to suggest we meet in the city which is sort of between us. He agrees. I tell him to pick a spot. He sends me a location. But no time. Hmmmmm. Wednesday arrives. I am busy all day, including getting the kids off the bus at 4pm. At 2:15 I get an email from Neil telling me he is done work and can meet me in 30 minutes in the city. Wait.....what? Clearly dating is new to Neil. Clearly women having some prep time is a new concept. Clearly he is a man. I politely email back that no, 2:45 will not work for me. He tells me he can't meet that evening. So why did he plan a date then? I am super annoyed but not surprised.

Neil sends me an email apologizing and tries to suggest another night. He suggest Yom Kippur. Oh, this is just getting better. He is Jewish right? I suggest brunch on a Sunday. He agrees and says he will come to me. Yeah he will. I send him a restaurant locale and we agree on 11am.

So I arrive at 11:05am which is really good for me. And Neil is not there. I put my name in on the list and sit to wait. And I wait. And I wait. And now I am starting to worry I am going to have to sneak out because I have been stood up. I put my name in as a party of two. And clearly I am a party of one. Then I check my email. Relief. He is running late. So I sit back to wait and wait and wait. Maybe the email was a joke to keep me hanging out at the restaurant longer while he stands me up. Nope....another email. He is five minutes away. Phew.

So he arrives. He is tall. He is not super good looking but not horrifically bad looking either. He sits, we talk, he laughs at my jokes. But he has no jokes of his own. Is he nervous? I bring up world events and he looks at me blankly. Oh no. But he does take his kids to DisneyWorld and skiing. Yet at the same time he doesn't visit museums. And are his shoulders hunching? Are they hunching a lot? Will he be a hunchback when he is 65. Will I have to help him cross streets because he is so hunched he can't look up? Stop it. This is a nice man, who is good with his kids and has a good career. Oh but I am looking at his mouth. Could I kiss that mouth? Do I want to? Do I want to see those hunched shoulders without a shirt on? I stop eating. I have repulsed myself.

I am too picky.

I am looking for a man who doesn't exist.

The date ends. We go our separate ways. I send him the obligatory thank you email. He sends one back. Wait a minute. Why isn't he begging me for a second date? I am fabulous. And he is a hunchback who knows nothing about the world around him. He should be so lucky to have a woman like me. My mother tells me to ask him out again. Think about her and the bragging rights she would have. Another Jewish Doctor in the family.

No. I know what I want. And the second time around I am not willing to settle. I need sparks. I need excitement. I need funny. I will not give up. He is out there somewhere, waiting for me. Or maybe he is out there somewhere dating a 25 year old hottie who batted her eyes at him and made him forget his middle aged life. Maybe I am a horrible reminder of what he really is. Maybe I only reinforce what his life has become. Because after all, I am 41 and single.

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