What do you do when the unexpected happens? You didn’t see it coming and had no time to plan for it.

All of a sudden you’re alone, with no one by your side. And just when it all seems hopeless, you’re given . . .

One More Chance

     When you’re young and single, you confront life with vigor and determination. The challenges are infinite and the encounters are intriguing. However, when you are “old” and single, your approach to the single life is one of caution and trepidation. At the same time, you want to be both a “player” on this stage and to avoid it like the plague. 

     My name is Andrew Page. And at age sixty-one, I found myself single again. I didn’t ask for this, nor did I want it, but the choice was not mine. She just walked out on me. Her words, “I’ve never lived on my own and I need to do so now. We can still date.”

     When I caught my breath from being punched in the stomach, I stuttered, “But, but, we’re married.”

     “I meant after the divorce,” Joanie spouted in a nonchalant manner.

     “Huh?” I had to think, so I left the room and crawled into my private space in the den.

     Six months later, when I’d healed from the shock of finding myself in a world to which I was not accustomed, I had to decide how to approach my new single life—wallow in self-pity and abject loneliness or venture into the hard and sometimes cruel world of dating. To my surprise, I chose the latter.

     It amazed me, for the decision to accept my fate as a single individual was not as difficult as I thought it would be. But deciding how to make my way in this strange, new, alien universe boggled my mind. Being neither a drinker nor a smoker, the bar scene, although seductive, frightened and repulsed me.

     Now, there were many singles dances advertised online. I love dancing, but shook with fear at the thought of being rejected when asking a woman to dance. I pictured, in my mind, moving with caution in the direction of an attractive lady, making eye contact, and asking in my most melodious voice, “May I have this dance?”

     Anticipating her reply, “Nooooooooooo,” would make me quiver and retreat back to my corner of the room to curl up in a ball and die.

     Okay then. “How should I do this?” I muttered. As an ardent explorer of the Internet, one Friday, I came across a dating website, “One More Chance,” that seemed to bubble with excitement. My eyes scanned the many postings from exciting, beautiful, voluptuous, intriguing, dynamic, playful, and heavenly women. How could I go wrong? The site allowed me to go from posting to posting and to check off those women who seemed to fit my most wonderful fantasies. At the conclusion of my search, I selected four “lucky women” who would receive a reply from me.

     The site’s protocol allowed me to post a message at the end of each woman’s alluring self-description page, along with my contact information, and then await a reply. I rehearsed my message over and over again. I wanted to appear eligible, but not too eligible; exciting, but not overly excited; interested, but by no means needy; and a good catch, but certainly not desperate. So I crafted a statement that I could deliver to each woman in a way that appeared to be straight from the heart. Then, with some hesitance, I hit reply and what I thought was the greatest “sales pitch” of all time traveled through time and space to four different destinations. Having accomplished my mission, I sat back and waited.

     As I found out, most of the women who roamed this marketplace received as many as a hundred or more replies. Even the exceptional ones, such as mine, might get overlooked. Not to be put off, I did what all self-assured, great men would do. I continued to wait.

     One evening, after returning home from work, there were two replies on my computer. “Hooray!” I shouted. I’d hit the jackpot. Oh my God!  Now I have to respond to them.

     Both women had given me the option of contacting them through FaceTime. This meant making myself as alluring as possible. After spending twenty minutes combing my hair, changing into a shirt that showed my bulging muscles, and making sure all my dinner had been removed from my teeth, I set out to contact the first lady, a fifty-six-year-old, ravishing blonde. 

     When her picture came up on the screen, the saliva began to drip down my chin. She was gorgeous. “Oh, hello, I . . . I am,” I driveled.

     “Well, hello to you, my good man.”

     Her voice enthralled me. “My name is Andrew,” I mumbled. “But you already know that. Don’t you?”

     “Why, yes, it was in your response to me. You seem a bit ill at ease. Do I frighten you?”

     “Uh, no. Should you?”

     “Probably.”

     “But why?”

     “Cause I’m able to seduce you with the passion in my eyes. And having an enormous chest doesn’t hurt either.”

     I started to speak, but was at a loss for words. Nothing came out. I bowed my head in embarrassment. When I lifted it, she was gone. I sat there staring at myself on the screen. “Oh my, this has been a catastrophe,” I screamed.

     I’d entered the water and drowned. Certain the future had nothing to offer but disaster, I decided never to do this again. I’d be better off taking up drinking and hanging out at local bars.

Copyright © 2016 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.