MY DREAM DATES
After 23 years of marriage, I suddenly found myself single once again. I had been out of the dating scene for so long that I had forgotten how tough it was. A friend suggested that I try online dating, and one lonely evening I posted a personal ad. "Recent divorcee, 45, well-educated, financially secure professional, non-smoker looking for single/divorced female, non-smoker 35-45."
I was delighted the next day when I checked and there were numerous responses. Susan seemed ideal, "39-year old dental hygienist, seeking a gentleman," and we chatted back and forth to plan a lunch date
At the cafe, a woman with a walker, a tank of oxygen, and a very obtrusive hearing aide entered.
"You must be Dave. You look just as you described," the woman before me said. I was horrified to see that she looked to be well into her seventies. "Hi, I'm Susan."
“There must be some mistake. I thought you said you were 39.”
"Well, I'm a couple of years older than that, Sonny, but everyone tells me I look 39,” Susan laughed.
While we were waiting for our food, I jumped when I felt Susan rubbing my leg with her foot under the table. I tried to get as far from her as I could so she couldn’t reach me.
She looked at me, removed her glasses and batting her graying lashes said, "If we are going to make whoopee tonight, you need to tell me. I'll need to take my pill. It keeps everything flowing proper down there. My doctor says I am healthy enough for sexual activity.”
I decided to search the personal ads myself, and Emily's heading caught my eye: "Looking for a clean-cut, well-adjusted man. " I responded with some info about myself and after my experience with Susan wanting to take a chance, asked her to send a pic. I was pleasantly surprised to see she was a lovely blonde. I had a good feeling as I waited for Mary at the restaurant the next evening. When she arrived I thought, "She's even prettier than in her photo."
After ordering she took a small bottle out of her purse and squirted some Purrell cleanser on her hands and rubbed them vigorously. "You can't be too careful", she explained in answer to my puzzled look. "Especially with menus." Laying the menu flat, she opened it to the first page. She used the Purell again. She turned the page. Used Purell. Turned the page. Used Purell. Turned the page. By the time she reached the desserts, she said, "I better look again." Somewhere around the salad section of the fourth round of the menu antics, she ran out of Purell, she said, "Good thing I always carry a spare bottle." Needless to say, by the time she was ready to order, the kitchen had closed, and she had started cleaning the flatware with a napkin and Purell.
"Looking for a man who can keep me satisfied" sounded like a sexually-charged challenge to me, so I responded to Melissa's personal ad. We met at the same restaurant as the others and the hostess was starting to give me dirty looks. She must think I'm a real player. Melissa and I seemed to really hit it off and we ordered appetizers. "Are seven appetizers too many?" she asked and when they came she wolfed them down as if she hadn't eaten in days. She was slender so there didn't seem to be a weight issue. Besides, I don't like women who pick at their food, they can be so wasteful. She excused herself to go to the ladies' room before the salad came. During her third trip to the bathroom, a woman stopped at my table on the way back from the restroom to say, "Your girlfriend is bent over the toilet vomiting." I just hope it's not food poisoning," said the woman, "What on the menu did she have?"
I sighed and said, "What on the menu didn't she have?"
When she came back to the table I asked "Are you okay, the lady at the next table said you were throwing up?"
"I'm okay," said Melissa. “I was just making room for dessert."
Sherry described herself as "35-years old, attractive red-head, wanted a family man. "When I saw her photo I was apt to agree, so we set a date to meet for cocktails the following week.
"I'm sorry." she said. "My babysitter canceled."
"That's fine," I said, meeting her by the hostess. She had two baby carriers. Truthfully, I don’t have a problem dating women with children, but I would never bring them to a bar.
We were fine until after we were sat, and I asked, "How many children do you have?"
"Eleven, but only eight are living with me now." My eyes widened. "Andrew's at college. Missy's in juvenile hall and I haven't heard from Alex since the day he turned eighteen." My moth slowly slacked. " I left the four toddlers with Apple and Drizzle. After my third, I ran out of names I liked so I let them pick out their own at age five."
"I, ah, I..." I was at a loss of words.
" I can't wait for you to meet them." I thought I'd rather eat eggs that have been cooked on a summer sidewalk. "Just remember, my son, Fart, only bites when you say the word ‘water.’ And Potato likes to draw on walls. She's so talented. "You are fertile aren’t you ?” she asked me, "because I want at least seven more."
I knew it was a numbers game, but I was really getting discouraged. ” What are the odds of finding the right woman, maybe one in a hundred?”
A seven-time divorcee, a black widow, and two alcoholics and several gold diggers later, I finally met a woman who seemed right for me.
"I love Peter Jackson, too," she said. "The Hobbit Trilogy was so well done."
"More wine?" She nodded as I poured her another glass.
She said, "Excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable."
When she stepped into the bathroom, I lay back on the couch and I thought, "Yes, this is definitely the woman for me." And when she emerged in a little black negligée, I knew I was right.
We started kissing; She straddled me. Everything was great until... "What's that?" I asked.
"It's called a dick, Hun.”