important element isn’t the beauty. It’s the being unaware of it. How could she have existed in the world without knowing?
I can’t describe to you her hair. I had noticed it before, and I thought I knew what it would be like when it was down. But it transformed everything. Her face, her eyes, her body—everything changed with the hair. I thought I had such a good eye for spotting beauty, and it had been right in front of me and I hadn’t even noticed it. It humbled me. And I have to be honest, that was a new experience for me. Humble gets a bad rap. I’m here to tell you, if I could live that way, I think it’s all I’d need to be happy.
I always compliment my dates. Always. I try to find one true thing that I like. And if I can’t, I compliment the thing that I dislike the most: Gold lamé shoes. A fuzzy purse that looks like a hair ball. Orange lipstick. There is a certain admiration in my horror. So I draw on that.
But this time, I swear to you, I couldn’t say a word. So I just opened the car door and helped her in.
She didn’t even seem to notice that I didn’t say anything. When she got in the car and told me where to go, she seemed both quiet and relaxed. I don’t think I’d ever experienced quite that combination of traits—at least not in a woman. With a guy, sure. You could sit there for half an hour without saying anything, and he’d barely even notice. If that happened with a woman, you could be sure that she was either pissed at something or upset, usually both.
But she only told me how to get to the restaurant. A right and a left and we were there. The whole downtown was about the size of one New York City block. There was also the strip just outside town, off the highway, with the motel where I was staying, the McDonald’s, the Burger King, the gas station, and the Dunkin’ Donuts.
The main part of town was actually quite picturesque. It was what you imagine a small town looks like. And the restaurant looked like it was right in step with that: a green scalloped awning that said just “Mike’s” and an old-fashioned glass-and-wood door. It looked perfect for a quiet dinner—until we opened the door and walked into chaos. It was like walking into a five-year-old’s birthday party after the cake has been served and the sugar is coursing through those little five-year-old bodies. I should know: I had spent about ten minutes at my nephew’s birthday party a month before.
By this time in my life, I had come to the conclusion that I didn’t like children. It’s not a popular opinion, but I think it’s one that more people have than will admit to. What I don’t understand is how those very same people are convinced that they will like their own children. Or rather, that their children will be different. I am not so sure of either.
When we walked into the restaurant, my first thought was that this was some kind of message—she had taken me here to make it clear that she loved children and wanted some as soon as possible, and she was already picking out names for the ones she was planning we would have together. That’s what went through my head after we went through the door. It’s not exactly logical, but I have to tell you that this is the level of paranoia in the older single man going out on a first date. And it is not completely unfounded. I could tell you stories . . .
But one look at her face and I knew it was unfounded in this case. When we walked into the restaurant, she looked shocked. Appalled really.
I said, “Is this another test like the pumpkin latte?”
“It’s not usually like this,” she said. “Why don’t we—”
But it was too late. The host had spotted us and caught us at the door.
At that point I was really quite enjoying her discomfort. She seemed so composed before, but I was very happy to have her off balance. I admit, it made me more comfortable.
But then we walked across the dining room, and I swear to you every male in the place looked up
I can’t describe to you her hair. I had noticed it before, and I thought I knew what it would be like when it was down. But it transformed everything. Her face, her eyes, her body—everything changed with the hair. I thought I had such a good eye for spotting beauty, and it had been right in front of me and I hadn’t even noticed it. It humbled me. And I have to be honest, that was a new experience for me. Humble gets a bad rap. I’m here to tell you, if I could live that way, I think it’s all I’d need to be happy.
I always compliment my dates. Always. I try to find one true thing that I like. And if I can’t, I compliment the thing that I dislike the most: Gold lamé shoes. A fuzzy purse that looks like a hair ball. Orange lipstick. There is a certain admiration in my horror. So I draw on that.
But this time, I swear to you, I couldn’t say a word. So I just opened the car door and helped her in.
She didn’t even seem to notice that I didn’t say anything. When she got in the car and told me where to go, she seemed both quiet and relaxed. I don’t think I’d ever experienced quite that combination of traits—at least not in a woman. With a guy, sure. You could sit there for half an hour without saying anything, and he’d barely even notice. If that happened with a woman, you could be sure that she was either pissed at something or upset, usually both.
But she only told me how to get to the restaurant. A right and a left and we were there. The whole downtown was about the size of one New York City block. There was also the strip just outside town, off the highway, with the motel where I was staying, the McDonald’s, the Burger King, the gas station, and the Dunkin’ Donuts.
The main part of town was actually quite picturesque. It was what you imagine a small town looks like. And the restaurant looked like it was right in step with that: a green scalloped awning that said just “Mike’s” and an old-fashioned glass-and-wood door. It looked perfect for a quiet dinner—until we opened the door and walked into chaos. It was like walking into a five-year-old’s birthday party after the cake has been served and the sugar is coursing through those little five-year-old bodies. I should know: I had spent about ten minutes at my nephew’s birthday party a month before.
By this time in my life, I had come to the conclusion that I didn’t like children. It’s not a popular opinion, but I think it’s one that more people have than will admit to. What I don’t understand is how those very same people are convinced that they will like their own children. Or rather, that their children will be different. I am not so sure of either.
When we walked into the restaurant, my first thought was that this was some kind of message—she had taken me here to make it clear that she loved children and wanted some as soon as possible, and she was already picking out names for the ones she was planning we would have together. That’s what went through my head after we went through the door. It’s not exactly logical, but I have to tell you that this is the level of paranoia in the older single man going out on a first date. And it is not completely unfounded. I could tell you stories . . .
But one look at her face and I knew it was unfounded in this case. When we walked into the restaurant, she looked shocked. Appalled really.
I said, “Is this another test like the pumpkin latte?”
“It’s not usually like this,” she said. “Why don’t we—”
But it was too late. The host had spotted us and caught us at the door.
At that point I was really quite enjoying her discomfort. She seemed so composed before, but I was very happy to have her off balance. I admit, it made me more comfortable.
But then we walked across the dining room, and I swear to you every male in the place looked up
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