We had agreed to meet at a place with “ambience and parking.”
I scored a parking place in front– arriving a few minutes early. We decided on trendy, watering-hole downtown. Perched on a barstool, I waited. Twenty minutes later, a tall, gray-haired man walked in. He didn’t resemble any of the photos I had seen online. However, he was 6’2 and was walking towards me, smiling. He said, “Dear, you look just like your photo.”
I thought, “You don’t look a thing like yours. Dear.” He made no apology for being late.
He was wearing a tweed jacket-probably from the 80’s that might have fit him then -not now. Chalk it up to: “Needs help.”
He suggested we move to the table in the small garden in the back. We we’re seated in a lovely area far removed from the bar. The waiter dropped off our drinks and we didn’t see him again.
How we went from where did you go to school -where do you live to his cholesterol, resting heart rate, daily exercise regime, and insomnia, I’ll never know.
On the dating profile, he indicated a passion for water sports, rowing, hiking and literature.
What he divulged was that his rowing took place in his living room-on a machine looking at the water. He was a big Danielle Steele fan. His hikes were to and from the grocery store.
It didn’t take much to decipher we have very little in common.
He displayed a great interest in my former husband.
Generally, my response is “That’s history.” And I move on.
However, Mr. Old Tweed Jacket was like a dog with a bone inquiring about my past. Which made him even less attractive. I suggested we get the check and call it a day. With no waiter insight, he suggested we simply walk out and not pay.
Then, I really knew I was with a loser.
On the way out, he went to the men’s room; I paid the bill.
And I said “Good luck.” (That’s what women say when they have no intention of ever seeing the guy again) He indicated he like to “do this again.”
Ha! Not in this lifetime.
I smiled, walked to my car, and drove off. Dodged that bullet.