Another Blind Date

ANOTHER BLIND DATE

Before the era of online dating, there was a dating section in the back of The Washingtonian Magazine where people could post ISO (in search of) ads. The entry would either have a post office box or use a telephone number posted by the magazine. The reason I was in a situation to be looking at those ads as a single mother of teen-agers in her late 40s, is another story and will one day come out in the form of a novel to protect the guilty.

During this time, though, as I tried to fend off friends’ efforts to have me date by mail and to figure out the writer’s shtick, one post caught my eye. Besides the obligatory “good sense of humor, likes walks on the beach, country living and dogs”, this guy wrote that he was looking for “a very bright, sparkling, loving WPF (white professional female) for everything, forever.” I was hooked. I wrote a letter, but when I went to find the box number of the writer, there was only the magazine phone number. So, having put all that effort into a letter, I called and read the letter into the phone nearly verbatim. It was a pretty long letter but the answering machine at the magazine must have been set up for long tomes.

The very next evening, this guy called!! We talked for two and a half hours that night and a couple of times after that. We had so much in common and found each other interesting and amusing. The projected date for a rendezvous couldn’t be planned until two weeks later – we were both busy people. We arranged to meet at a coffeehouse in a town about halfway between where we each lived. It was a long two weeks.

The town where we were to meet was a lovely town with a lot of history dating from Revolutionary times and the coffee shop was in the heart of the historic district. I arrived early to get the advantage of being the observer. Entering, I saw a nicely dressed man about my age already sitting at a table. Ah, he’s even earlier than I am - he had the advantage of observing all who entered and I was now the observed.

Our eyes met and I walked confidently to the table. “So, you’re here,” he said and smiled.

“Yes,” is all I could manage to squeeze out breathlessly as I maneuvered a metal bistro chair away from the table.

He was not as attractive as I’d been led to believe by his own description - his hair was thinning markedly and he’d said he had plenty of it. Oh, well, hyperbole. But he was not totally unattractive either and physical appearance beyond basic things like a full set of teeth has never been high on my wish list.

I ordered a coffee and we made small talk. This, I’m not so good at and I realized his eyes were glazing over - oh, God, he’s not interested. I must have been fidgeting too, for suddenly he said,

“Well, this is very nice, but shall we move forward and get down to business and what you’re planning to do for me?” I nearly leaped out of my seat.

“Business? Business? Heh, heh. You do have a good sense of humor.” I was clutching at straws still trying to be polite when what I really wanted to do was push over the little table and spill hot coffee into his lap. “And you’re a very direct man. I know we’ve talked for a few hours, but I thought we might spend some time getting to know one another better now that we’ve met in person.”

“I’m really a very busy guy and need to get some firm plans nailed down,” he said. “Oh, good, here comes my wife—now we can put it all out on the table. She’s actually the one who handles these things.” He smiled broadly as a woman I’d call overdressed strode toward our table. They gave each other what looked like a conspiratorial grin and she waved me a breezy ‘hi’ as she approached.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry - I don’t do this,” I stammered. I started to get up.

Just then, he reached under the table and drew some papers out of a briefcase I hadn’t noticed before. Oh, brother, what else hadn’t I noticed? I was only thankful I had listened to some friends who had experience with these things and had arranged to meet him in a public place.

The smile left his face as suddenly as it came. I envisioned a nasty scene in this lovely setting but continued to struggle to my feet for a getaway. I murmured, “I must have gotten the wrong idea, sorry.”

“But don’t you want to help us decorate the addition? asked the woman, now sitting down at the table.

“What? Decorate your addition? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Aren’t you Marlaine Kramer, the design person I talked to last week?” Mrs. Overdressed asked.

“No, I’m supposed to meet a guy here and I assumed you were he.” I looked at the equally surprised couple and we all began to laugh. We laughed a lot, me out of intense relief, but then I realized that if I were sitting here with these people, the man I was supposed to meet was somewhere out there thinking I wasn’t showing up.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” I said hurriedly, “I’ve got to go outside to meet the person I came here to meet.” I threw some money on the table to cover my coffee.

As I flew out the door, I saw a red MG just driving out of the parking lot, tires squealing. Having made a fool out of myself once already, I had absolutely no compunction about doing it again and began running after the car, yelling the name of the fellow who’d sounded so nice for all those hours on the phone.

But he was gone.