I couldn’t wait for date #2. I had to wait 10 loooooong days but, at least, it was scheduled in advance. I hate the wondering-if-there-will-be-another-date part. I think it’s always a common-sense business plan to schedule a follow up meeting and just plain old good manners, especially when the heart is on the line.

I thought of him often and agonized over an outfit. Every chance I got; I looked for a new dress. Unfortunately, I didn’t find one that was fun, flirty and fitting for the “BEST 2ND DATE EVER” which, I assumed, we’d have…

In the middle of our 10-day hiatus, he called. That’s so much better than texting. You just can’t always rely on the vibe of the text. I liked talking to him and he continued to be funny and charming. Good signs. We had to change our date night to a day earlier. Worked for me. Maybe I would see him both nights, I thought.

On the day of our date, I left work early because I knew how long it would take me to get ready and I wasn’t entirely convinced of my outfit. It looked great last summer but this year, with a few extra pounds, I just wasn’t sure. Besides, it was the best option I had. Plus, I had a pair of Spanx with my name written all over them.

He texted me when I got home to ask me to meet him earlier. I panicked. There was no way I could shower, dress for “BEST 2ND DATE EVER” and get there significantly early. I told him I’d try and I did, but my outfit, shoes and jewelry did not want to cooperate. I ended up being 10 minutes late. I’m sure he was annoyed.

The parking lot was full except for a non-spot in the furthest corner of the lot. I took it. It was either that or valet. I have spent enough money on parking tickets, tows and every other parking related hassle over the last 10 years to last a lifetime. I do not valet. (Of course, I get irritated when a guy refuses to valet and would rather drive around looking for a spot, like me. I’m full of double standards. C’est la vie.)

He was standing in the back of the restaurant talking on the phone. He looked annoyed. I rushed in. My towering heels weren’t as comfortable as they were the first night. I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as he continued his conversation and walked directly to the bar.

When he finally came in, the conversation started a little slower. He asked if I minded sitting at the bar, I did mind but, not terribly, and I was late, so I said it was fine. Things picked up by the time I gulped my martini. He was having a little trouble at work. There were back-to-back meetings that weren’t going as well as he planned. I could tell he was under some stress. He asked me if I trusted him. To which I replied, “of course.” He ordered us dinner and wine. I liked that. I have a tendency to choose the worst thing on the menu.

The food was amazing. We were having a little more fun in the conversation but I think the drinks may have hit him faster than they hit me. Or, it could have been that he was 3 cocktails ahead of me. (He got to the restaurant 40 minutes before me. My bad.) All of a sudden, he seemed to have arms everywhere, including a hand up my dress. (Thank God, I chose to fore-go the Spanx! Could you imagine? If you know me well, of course you could.)

Now, I am no prude but I am very particular about making a scene in public. A man’s arm up a woman’s skirt at a semi-busy bar is a scene in public. And, I was part of it. My eyes lit up, round like saucers. It really took me by surprise and I didn’t like it.

I have to regress for a minute to explain the extent of my discomfort of public scenes. I was at a friend’s wedding years ago. She married an Asian guy and had sushi with the most beautiful green butter on the side. I had never eaten sushi before and I wanted to give it a try. I loaded on the green stuff because everything tastes better with more toppings. (I was heavier then…) Well, as you have already guessed, it was wasabi. The second it all went in my mouth, my eyes started watering and my throat felt like it was slowly closing. I had two choices, either put my arms up and let someone know I was choking or die quietly. I choose the latter. Clearly, I didn’t die (Had I been caught with the Spanx, I would have wanted to die!) but I did remain calm, flushed water down my throat via straw, and tried to eat a little bread. I. Do. Not. Make. A. Scene. In. Public.


Heavy PDA at a bar is public. The only time that is okay is if I’m drunk. Then, I throw caution to the wind and play kissy face until the cows come home. Been there, done that, not ashamed to say it. However, I wasn’t drunk. I was mortified.

I pushed away his advances, playfully, of course, because A) I liked him and B) I’m eternally polite. I asked him about our first date and reminded him how romantic he was with what he wrote on the wine cork. He grabbed our wine cork and wrote, “CONSERVATIVE PRUDE.” Not nice. He was kidding, but it still wasn’t nice.

Can I just tell you? I think I was so excited that he might be my soul mate that I lost myself. He walked me out to my car and the kissing proceeded. It was a little easier to kiss him there but, it was late and I had to work in the morning. We were the last 2 cars in the parking lot. We said our good byes. I don’t think he held the car door that time. I got in and slowly inched out of my pretend parking spot. Well, he was waiting for me at the front of the building. He got in and kissed me some more. Truth be told, he wasn’t a bad kisser and I do like him but, it was a little overkill.

Date #3 was scheduled for the next night. I didn’t want to go, not because I didn’t want to see him but, I still had to pack and knew I wasn’t going to get much sleep. (I was scheduled to travel for work the next day.) Luck was on my side, his meetings ran late and he had to cancel. Phew. I expected him to text me that weekend or call. Nothing.

I may need to re-visit Betty, after all.


The Psychic and the Soul Mate

I’ve been going to psychics for years. I thought everyone did, as I got older (and addicted) I realized I am in the minority among my educated friends. Oh well. I still enjoy throwing away a few bucks for the thrill of someone confirming that my dreams will definitely come true. They always confirm I will marry someone wonderful. However, at 41 pushing 42, the idea of it seems fleeting. I know, I know. “FORTY-ONE and suspecting the idea of a happily-ever-after isn’t coming??? Ridiculous!” you’re saying. I know but, when everyone you know is married or in a relationship, it seems odd that you are not. Especially, when there isn’t anything apparent wrong with you. I digress.

I went to a psychic in July that (surprisingly) one of my educated friends suggested. Her “office” is in Portsmouth and it seemed like a great excuse to visit my favorite little Seacoast haunt. Apparently, this woman is one of the best in the country. When I heard that, I knew I had to give her my money. Her name is Betty and she was an odd duck, that goes with the territory but, she seemed very nice. She knew my inquiry was about love without asking. I suppose that shouldn’t come as a surprise since I was without wedding ring. She wanted me to record our conversation on my iPhone. As we started the reading, we made conversation and she picked up on a few things about my life. She was right about most but, I think most observant people could do the same. I still wasn’t impressed. Then, we got to love. Whether or not I’d find it and where was he? She did start the reading telling me I would get married. I knew that, I just wasn’t sure if I’d settle or wait for the right one.

She explained I would meet a tall, handsome, dark haired man that a friend would introduce me to within 3 months. She wasn’t sure if he had been married before but, if so, it was short-lived. He wanted to settle down and was looking for the right match. He lived in Massachusetts, was a man’s man, very well-liked in his community and looked up to, and perhaps, runs a business. He was a kind and generous man and would know right away that I was his soul mate. He would think I was beautiful. We would be best friends and lovers. Betty felt so confident that I would meet this man that she said if I did not meet him within six months, to come back for another reading for free. She said, “You pulled the true love card twice, for Christ’s sake! That doesn’t happen. There is no doubt in my mind, he’s looking for you.”

Well, it’s been 9 months and I considered calling Betty back to ask where he was?

In other news, I got a call over the winter from my friend, Kristina, who has been trying to find me a husband for years. (She’s Italian, it’s genetic.) She wanted to ask me if I was interested in going out with one of her clients. She said I only needed to go out to dinner once and he’s older but really nice. My first thought was, “Sure.” Then, she quickly slid in, “Oh by the way, he’s 50 and Middle Eastern.” Immediately, I thought, “oh no, short, balding, and chubby.” (What? I had seen those guys on Match, they always are.) Anyway, I gave her an unconvincing, “maybe.” She said, “fine” and suggested another friend who was closer to our age. I met him and thought, “Hmm, I could go out with this guy.” So, I said she could give that guy my number. He never called. When pressed about why, he flatly said, “too old.” He’s THREE years older than me! What a blow. Immediately, I was acutely aware of my fine lines and graying hair. So, I thought, “maybe I can make it work with the last guy who I’ve known forever…” After a botched get-together, I shamed myself for ever having any interest in such an idiot. Finally, I said, “What the hell? Give the Middle Eastern guy my number.”

The night of our date, I didn’t want to go. I had an awful breakout from all the crap food I’d been eating, I felt fat and ugly. Plus, I had to open the office by 7am which meant I had to leave for work the next morning in the 6am timeframe instead of my usual 8:05 drive time. I knew Kristina would have killed me so, I got all dolled up and was ready to head out the door.

Now, with my 7am office opening the next morning, I needed to remember keys to the office. They are not my keys so, they are not attached to my key chain. I changed purses to match my outfit and the most important thing to me was not to forget those keys. My plan was to leave them in my car. I have to digress for another minute. I am perpetually late. Especially in the morning. I knew that I would be running late in the morning and most likely not even think about changing purses so, it was very possible I would forget those keys if they were hiding in one of the purses. I couldn’t risk that so, I kept them in my hand, locked the door and pulled it shut. The second the door closed, my heart stopped. I had 20 minutes to get to my date, it took 22 minutes to get there and I had just, unwittingly, locked myself out of the house. I was so used to keeping my house keys in my hand when I lock the door (I’ve locked myself out before) that I didn’t think twice because I was holding a set of keys. For the office! I panicked. I texted Kristina. She panicked, too. I called my landlord, it went straight to voicemail which meant he was in for the night and not turning his phone back on until morning.

I went to my neighbor’s to see if she had a spare key. She didn’t the last time I was locked out but, I hoped, “maybe.” She told me she just turned 88 and was starting to get forgetful so, she wasn’t sure if Richie (her son, my landlord) left my keys at her house. She started shuffling through drawers. I explained my predicament and she said she’d keep looking. Ugh. I knew I had to call him. I meekly told him what happened. The first words out of his mouth were, “How can I help? What can I do?” I asked him if he felt like picking me up, he said, “absolutely.” I texted him my address and waited on my front porch. Fortunately, I had a ration of water and a bottle of nail polish to keep me busy.

When he pulled up and got out of his car, I was pleasantly surprised. Not what I expected at all. I went over to give him a hug and introduce myself. He looked great, dressed very sharp and smelled really good. He escorted me to the passenger side of his car and held the door open for me. On our way to the restaurant, I thanked him again for coming to pick me up and told him how embarrassed I was about the keys. He told me that was already one of his favorite parts of the date and said as we continued to get to know each other the story would continue to get better. He was very charming, funny and made an effort to make me feel comfortable.

Can I just tell you? We chatted all night and closed the restaurant. At the end of the date, he handed me the cork from our bottle of wine. I had told him earlier in the evening that I was very sentimental. At first, I thought, “How sweet, he wants me to remember our first bottle of wine together.” I hadn’t noticed the ink on the cork. As I looked more closely, I could see he wrote something, “THIS WAS BEST 1ST DATE EVER.”

Before parting ways, he asked me to commit to at least 5 dates with him. He explained that after a really good first date, (in his words, “BEST 1ST DATE EVER”) the expectations for our 2nd date are really high. In the off chance, he did not meet my expectations on the 2nd date, he wanted me to give him 3 more chances. He explained, he wanted to get to know me and wanted me to get to know him. I said, “yes.” He then asked me if I like to dance. To which, I replied, “yes.” So, he asked me to go to New Orleans with him to go dancing. Um, hell yeah. I think he may already know me…

I reviewed my psychic recording on the way home from work the next day. Could it be? Is he the tall, handsome, dark haired (full head of thick hair) man who knew, right away, he wanted to be my best friend forever? Maybe I won’t need to claim my free reading with Betty after all.
“Imperfection is beauty. Madness is genius. It is better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.” – Marilyn Monroe