Something happened in my past that sticks in my mind. I couldn’t have anticipated it.

 

I was caught off guard when it occurred. This will become clear, as I recall . . .

 

 

A Time In My Life

 

     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, you approach the single life with caution and trepidation. At the same time, you want to be both a “player” in the singles scene and to avoid it like the plague. 

     In 1996, at age 51, I found myself single again. I hadn’t asked for this, nor did I want it, but the choice was not mine. One night my wife walked into the living room, looked me straight in the eye and said, “It’s over.”

     “What’s over?” I asked, somewhat confused.

     “Us,” she replied.

     It took some time, but when I healed from this shock, I had to decide how to approach my newfound single life—wallow in self-pity and abject loneliness, or venture into the hard and sometimes cruel world of dating. I chose the latter.

     The decision to reenter the singles scene was not as difficult as that of deciding how to make my way in this strange, new alien universe. Being neither a drinker nor a smoker, hanging out at a bar was frightening and somewhat repulsive.

     Now, there were many singles dances advertised in the local paper. I love dancing, but I was afraid of being rejected when I asked a woman to dance. I pictured myself moving, with caution, in the direction of an attractive woman, making eye contact, and asking in my most melodious voice, “May I have this dance?” only to be told, “Nooooooooooo!” If this happened, I would retreat back to my corner of the room, curl up in a ball, and die.

     So, how should I enter this world I didn’t understand? I thought. As an ardent newspaper reader, one Friday, I came across the singles ads in the personals section of the paper. My eyes scanned the many ads from exciting, beautiful, intriguing, dynamic, and playful women. How could I go wrong? 

     With pencil in hand, I went from ad to ad, checking off those women that seemed to fit my most wonderful fantasies. At the conclusion of my search, I had selected four “lucky ladies” to receive a call from me.

     The paper’s protocol required I leave a message in a recipient’s mailbox and then await a return call. I rehearsed my message over and over again. I wanted to appear eligible, but not too eligible; exciting, but not too excited; interested, but by no means needy; and a good catch, but certainly not desperate. 

     Making my best effort, I crafted a speech I could deliver so it didn’t appear rehearsed. Still feeling somewhat uncomfortable, I dialed each of the four numbers and left what I thought was the greatest “sales pitch” of all time. Having accomplished my mission, I sat back and waited.

     As I found out later, most of the women who advertised received as many as one hundred replies. And therefore, even the great ones, such as mine, might get overlooked. Not to be put off by this, I did what any self-assured, great man would do; I continued to wait.

     One evening, after returning from work, there were two messages on my answering machine. “Hooray!” I screamed. I’d hit the jackpot. Oh my God!  Now I have to call them back, I thought. I looked at the clock. It was 8:00 pm. “Is it too late to call?” I muttered. “No way,” I sighed. The timing was just right. So I dialed the first woman. 

     “Hello,” she said.

     “Hi, Mona, I’m Simon. You left me a message.”   

     “Yes, I was intrigued by what you said in your message. I’d love to meet you.”

     And so we agreed to meet. The other call also was pleasant and Debbie and I agreed to get together. Although the initial meeting with each woman was interesting and, for the most part, comfortable, there was no real “match.” However, I had entered the water and didn’t drown. Certain of future success, I would do this again.

     But then, I experienced a rude awakening. I received my phone bill. Yikes!  At a $1.99 a minute to leave my beautifully crafted, well rehearsed, and very long message, I now was in a position where I needed to take out a second mortgage on the house to pay my phone bill. This certainly was not the way to go.

     It was at that time that the light bulb went on in my head. I needed to be the one to place the ad and to receive the call. Then, if I only responded to those women who were in my local calling area, my phone bill would be manageable, and I would not lose my home.

     I sat at my desk for hours trying to craft the ad—one I’d be proud to place. And then it happened, as follows:

 

“WANTED FOR STEALING . . .

my heart—an attractive, fit, divorced lady, 40-50, with a great smile, and wonderful sense of humor, to begin an honest, sharing relationship with a divorced, bright, engaging gentleman; an educated professional, who enjoys sports, dancing, writing, dogs, and intimate conversations."

 

     I posted the ad in the paper and waited patiently for the hundreds of calls that I would get. But, if I only received one from the very special lady that I’d been looking for, I’d be satisfied.

     A week later, as I relaxed on the couch thinking about where my love life was headed, the phone rang. I picked it up and, before I could say a word, a woman’s shrill voice resonated, “Hello, Prince Charming. I’m so glad you’ve entered my life again. I believe we’re the perfect match.”

     I was speechless. And then, I stuttered, “Again? You do?”

     “Yes.”

     “Why?”

     “Before I respond to that, I have two questions I’d like to ask you. Is that all right?”

     “Okay.”

     “What kind of car do you drive? And, do you wear glasses with thick black frames?” 

     I felt as if I was back in high school. “Uh, a Buick. And, well, yes, I do. Is that acceptable to you?”

     “I guess it has to be.”

     “Why?”

     “Because you haven’t changed a bit.”

     “I haven’t?”

     “No, you haven’t.”

     “How do you know?”

     “Our mother told me.”

     “My mother?”

     “No, our mother.”

     “How can that be?”

     “If you’d return my calls, little brother, I wouldn’t have to resort to responding to your ad in the newspaper.”

 

 

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