Dont Mince Words

I am the family crypt keeper so, ever so often, I go up to Arlington National Cemetery to ensure my father hasn’t kicked the door off after the recent arrival of my mother. Today, the screws were still tight, so I did some holiday decorating and then had a flashback to the 1970s.

It was December and I was 10 years old. My mom grabbed me and said, “come on, we have to go somewhere.” We were in the 2000 block of Powhatan Street, almost to the Arlington County line, when I asked, “where are we going?”

“We’re going to Toys ‘R Us. I’m sure you know there’s really no Santa Claus, so you are going to pick out the toys you know your brother wants.”

So that year, I was like the wiseman bringing gifts to the baby Jesus, except instead of myrrh, it was Evil Knievel. Today, I’m decorating my parents’ grave on what my brother and I call Barbara in the Box Day/Boxing Day. She always enjoyed the 25th, but the 26, it was back to business writing thank you notes and cleaning our rooms. What we did on that day was never a secret.

I made a hasty decision agreeing to meet John. We’d talked on the phone once and texted for a day, but he was eager and I was bored. I knew I was in trouble when, four hours before before meeting, he asked me how I felt about shorts. “I usually don’t make the switch until after the New Year,” he confessed. This is Virginia and we’ve already had 20-something degree days. While I wanted to tell him to put his big boy pants on, I told him to be comfortable.

An hour before meeting he texted me that he had just gotten home and was jumping in the shower. He had one clean, ironed shirt that he couldn’t wait to show me. At this point, I was in it for the cider and chanted an old New York girlfriend’s manta, “A girl’s gotta drink.”

He was standing in the cider tasting room and he was easy to spot because he was the only 50-something in shorts amongst the 20-something cool kids. “Tah-dah. What do you think? I got the shirt at Fan Thrift,” he boasted. He had on a bright green/chartruse-colored Ralph Lauren button down on with a blue horse on his nipple. Cargo shorts are never a good look on anyone, especially when the pockets are loaded. But the outfit was truly complete with old LLBean duck boats. This was a preppy flashback like I’d never seen. My response was unfiltered, “The 80’s called and they want it all back.” That made the bartender choke on whatever he was drinking.

We sat with our sampler platter and I feigned interest for an hour. After he confessed he had been separated since 2009 and couldn’t get divorced for “tax purposes,” he asked me if I’d like to go to a nude beach. I smiled and said no, naked middled aged people are not my thing. He then asked me to take him shopping. “I know I can do better,” he said. I declined that invitation and suggested he purchase a pair of jeans and up-to-date mock turtlenecks for the winter.  Better yet, maybe his wife can take him shopping.

Not my actual date….

My girlfriends and I joke about fall “hunting” season. This is when all our online dating sites and app inboxes get jammed with men trying to find love before it gets cold. They need someone to make hot wings while they watch “the game” and someone to keep them warm at night.

Two years ago, I took a class with John. He was tall, nice goatee, full sleeves, educated, and funny. But when I saw the wedding band, my thoughts of having a writing partner and bed buddy were banished. Like everything, if you wait long enough, men become divorced or widowed. Three weeks ago, I was surprised when I saw John wrote on POF. We had a few exchanges and when I mentioned the class and how we’ve met, he ghosted me.

I told a neighbor who has taken John’s class. He laughed and said, “you don’t want him. Yes, he’s divorced now, but he’s a crossdresser.” I rolled my eyes. “It figures.” My neighbor proceeded to pull out his phone and show me photos of Cross-John. He does not make a pretty woman. Or maybe I’m too judgy since I lived in West Hollywood and have seen the best drag queens in the world. John was just half assing his look. The wig was bad, the makeup was bad and he definitely needed a stylist. I dodged a bullet, but at the same time I know he’d never borrow my clothes.

I had my first Bumble date in October. This app is like Tinder except only women can write the men. I got distracted and forgot to write Don in the 24-hour window, so he paid to excalate and extend. I owed him a note. Hot to trot, he booked a dinner date for the next night. This didn’t give me time to screen him properly, but you know, a girl’s gotta eat. Before the menus were collected, I learned he didn’t drink and had been married three times. Yeah, I don’t need a guy that has impulse control issues. However, it was nice diversion from my usual Netflix and Dixie Friday night.

I’ve never had a problem being alone, but I truly wonder how much longer I can continue trying to date.