A Kosher Dating Odyssey: One Former Texas Baptist's Quest for a Naughty & Nice Jewish Girl by van Wallach
Authors: van Wallach
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swan song before we could act out scenes from Humphrey Bogart-Lauren Bacall movies—“You do know how to whistle, Jim? You just pucker your lips and blow” (To Have and Have Not)—but my new car served as a faithful sidekick in my dating adventures. What happened? Pull out your old LP by the singer Meat Loaf and listen to “Paradise by the Dashboard Light.” That’ll explain everything.
* * *
The Tale of the Wonkish Cougar
Truth be told, Mrs. Robinson exuded sensuality in person but came across as a bit starchy online, a wonkish cougar, if you can imagine the combination. Chatting once, I asked impishly, “What turns you on?”
“ Healthcare policy,” she wrote back in all seriousness.
Still, she stoked my curiosity (I’m not calling her Mrs. Robinson for nothing). We talked about meeting when she visited New York for a wedding. She even made noises about me getting a tux and being her date at the upscale wedding, to which she promised to wear a very slinky gown. My imagination began to wander. The escort part, alas, fell through, but we still got together. As I wrote,
I met Mrs. Robinson at the Essex House. She was already dressed to thrill in a sleeveless dress that was very low cut. She projected an electricity I found very attractive—lots of self-confidence in her appearance.
“ Your pictures on your profile don’t do you justice,” I said. I think she liked this. She’s got a knock-out figure—that bust on display—and saucy look, bouncy blonde hair. I wanted to just munch on those shoulders. She talked too much about healthcare policy, but I steered her away from that. At some points I felt her foot brush against my leg.
We strolled to Essex House. She told me about the famous dress, strapless, low-cut. I was dying. I have to see a picture of that.
I never saw the dress. Still, she fired my imagination. I envisioned us in our very own swashbuckling romance novel. I would be her hairy-eared Fabio and she would be my flushed, ruby-lipped pirate queen. Together we would point the prow of her curving bodice toward the great passion of her life—discussions of healthcare policy reforms. A year later, I visited the city where Mrs. Robinson lived and we planned to meet. I had visions of a romantic walk under the spring foliage, but as I hit the city limits she called to cancel because of a family matter. I could taste the metallic disappointment in my mouth. I checked in several times during the crisis, but I finally gave up.
* * *
The Shabbat Seductress
Sometimes, the magic happened. Timing, inclination, location, daring, attraction and the alignment of the stars combined to move me speedily up the online dating curve. At those moments, the good angels locked their wings together, lay down their ever-turning flaming swords and opened the gates to the Garden of Eden for biblical bonding. One woman who regularly visited New York contacted me and we met for a Friday night service at the Carlebach Shul on the Upper West Side, known for its rollicking Orthodox services. After that, we returned to the apartment where this Shabbat Seductress was staying. I wrote,
Services lasted a loud, long time, so we didn’t return to the apartment until ten. I imagined we’d have coffee, a nosh and I’d be on my merry way, but that was not exactly the agenda, as the Passoveresque Shabbat food kept flowing out of the kitchen—matzoh ball soup, salad—and the night lingered on. Well, that’s what Shabbat is all about, as she stressed relaxation ... We listened to a lot of music. I don’t call Chet Baker “smooch jazz” for nothing. Anyway ... I finally bolted and barely made the 1:07 a.m. train back here.
A few days later we toured the Fairway supermarket, which she adores, and I had never seen. “Find something you want for breakfast,” she said casually.
“ Oh, aren’t you the rascal,” I said.
“ I thought you knew,” she replied.
Really, I’m such an innocent. I had no idea that
* * *
The Tale of the Wonkish Cougar
Truth be told, Mrs. Robinson exuded sensuality in person but came across as a bit starchy online, a wonkish cougar, if you can imagine the combination. Chatting once, I asked impishly, “What turns you on?”
“ Healthcare policy,” she wrote back in all seriousness.
Still, she stoked my curiosity (I’m not calling her Mrs. Robinson for nothing). We talked about meeting when she visited New York for a wedding. She even made noises about me getting a tux and being her date at the upscale wedding, to which she promised to wear a very slinky gown. My imagination began to wander. The escort part, alas, fell through, but we still got together. As I wrote,
I met Mrs. Robinson at the Essex House. She was already dressed to thrill in a sleeveless dress that was very low cut. She projected an electricity I found very attractive—lots of self-confidence in her appearance.
“ Your pictures on your profile don’t do you justice,” I said. I think she liked this. She’s got a knock-out figure—that bust on display—and saucy look, bouncy blonde hair. I wanted to just munch on those shoulders. She talked too much about healthcare policy, but I steered her away from that. At some points I felt her foot brush against my leg.
We strolled to Essex House. She told me about the famous dress, strapless, low-cut. I was dying. I have to see a picture of that.
I never saw the dress. Still, she fired my imagination. I envisioned us in our very own swashbuckling romance novel. I would be her hairy-eared Fabio and she would be my flushed, ruby-lipped pirate queen. Together we would point the prow of her curving bodice toward the great passion of her life—discussions of healthcare policy reforms. A year later, I visited the city where Mrs. Robinson lived and we planned to meet. I had visions of a romantic walk under the spring foliage, but as I hit the city limits she called to cancel because of a family matter. I could taste the metallic disappointment in my mouth. I checked in several times during the crisis, but I finally gave up.
* * *
The Shabbat Seductress
Sometimes, the magic happened. Timing, inclination, location, daring, attraction and the alignment of the stars combined to move me speedily up the online dating curve. At those moments, the good angels locked their wings together, lay down their ever-turning flaming swords and opened the gates to the Garden of Eden for biblical bonding. One woman who regularly visited New York contacted me and we met for a Friday night service at the Carlebach Shul on the Upper West Side, known for its rollicking Orthodox services. After that, we returned to the apartment where this Shabbat Seductress was staying. I wrote,
Services lasted a loud, long time, so we didn’t return to the apartment until ten. I imagined we’d have coffee, a nosh and I’d be on my merry way, but that was not exactly the agenda, as the Passoveresque Shabbat food kept flowing out of the kitchen—matzoh ball soup, salad—and the night lingered on. Well, that’s what Shabbat is all about, as she stressed relaxation ... We listened to a lot of music. I don’t call Chet Baker “smooch jazz” for nothing. Anyway ... I finally bolted and barely made the 1:07 a.m. train back here.
A few days later we toured the Fairway supermarket, which she adores, and I had never seen. “Find something you want for breakfast,” she said casually.
“ Oh, aren’t you the rascal,” I said.
“ I thought you knew,” she replied.
Really, I’m such an innocent. I had no idea that
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