As the day badgered its welcome on my semiconscious mind, I began to accept the reality of another day and opened my eyes. First problem to greet me was my mascara from the night before had clumped and attached its Night Navy ass to my left cheek. Secondly, everything I witnessed out of my right eye was spinning. Was I Dorothy in Kansas, forever in black and white – or was it sepia? I don’t have Toto; I used to have Prozac, my black cat, but now I have Officer, the mini pig. This isn’t Oz, it’s frickin’ Florida and I don’t have any ruby slippers.
I haven’t been lucky in love. I feel like Dr. Seuss, “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish”. I almost married my last boyfriend. This is why psychics and psychoanalysts should come with warning labels! My gut was screaming from the beginning, but I still excused all those red flags. I didn’t know he was a philanderer, I thought he said he was a philanthropist! So now I find myself single – again, thirty-something, career focused, and taking the world by storm.
Welcome to my world. I am sorry to report, dating hasn’t gotten any better in the two years that I was confined at home playing “wifey” to a short, bald narcissist. But it could always be worse, right?
Going on a date with a man who describes, in detail, the women he is typically attracted to, and I am clearly NOT his type. Having cocktails, conversing, and then the Latina waitress, not even ninety pounds, with jet black hair to her waist, and deep dark pools of distraction, made this thirty-something feel too old in the overcrowded corral of fillies.
My date, “Drive-thru Boy”, was no longer capable of multi-tasking. I was wrapping up my conversation on how “…I am not a jealous person, unless you give me a reason. …If you’re staring at someone else and I have to wipe the drool from your face, that would be a problem for me.”, when he saw “Latina Señorita”. Five minutes later we were in the car, on the way back to my house, where he dropped me off, never having eaten dinner, nor did he walk me to my front door.
Once inside, I walked right to the garage, got in my car, and drove to the corner McDonald’s for a quarter pounder with cheese and large fry. As I turn the corner and pull forward, you will never believe what I saw? My date, that just dropped me off, was in the drive-thru line in front of me!
He called the next day wanting to do dinner and a movie. Seriously?! It is answer enough when you would rather stay home doing your taxes?
Dinner after work with friends at the local Italian eatery is ridiculous since becoming single. The owner, Vincenzo, is trying to set me up with his cousin, twenty-seven year old pizza boy, Lorenzo, who needs a green card and doesn’t speak a lick of English! Vincenzo had to translate the introductions. When Lorenzo asked for my phone number by handing me his cell, everything was in Italian. I had to laugh…and refuse my number. Lord knows what Vincenzo told Lorenzo since Vincenzo barely spoke English himself. However, Lorenzo looked hopeful, smiling profusely, repetitively regurgitating the word Si over and over again.
Officer is putting a dent in my dating life as well. Any man that tries to get close to Mommy, he charges. The “bald, philanderer” left an impact on my pig as well.
Needless to say, “When life throws you a curve ball, DUCK!”