Caught One

Yes, I am a Match virgin no longer (a virgin for this time around, that is; I'm like those women who wear white at their second weddings): I met my first "date" (what an odd word, conjuring up Fifties-style outings in a car to a place with a jukebox, or maybe a drive-in). That would be C, a very nice man of reasonable good looks and pleasant humor. He was not the Conversation Dominator I dread, nor was he boring. We had a lovely conversation for the 45 minutes we had carved out for this occasion, scouting such perennial favorites as when, who and why we married and divorced, the progeny that resulted, where they live and what they do, and of course those we have loved since then and why that didn't work out so much (psychological depth excluded). We also delved extensively into his stereo system (fabulous) and mine (a wreck), a topic of great interest to him because he loves classical music. I got some great advice about how to replace my turntable.

As you can probably infer by now, because you are so psychologically astute, we got along well but there were no fireworks lighting up the sky. On the other hand, as the psychotherapeutic police are always telling me, one should not expect fireworks. Or even strong attraction. After all, you can't know someone from meeting for 45 minutes (you betcha). So I will just say that I liked him, in a reasonable and cautious kind of way, more than I thought I would. This got a considerable boost when we stood up for the perfunctory hug goodbye and I realized that he is tall and slim; I could hug that with some pleasure.

So that was nice, even without visions of skipping through meadows. On the downside, though, I didn't get a strong sense that he liked me a lot, or intends to follow up. Deduct points for this: one wants to be liked. The first words he said, in fact, were that I look nothing like my picture; he claimed this was neither good nor bad (I asked), but the neutrality itself goes with the tone of the whole meeting. The upside is that I'd be fine with seeing him again and also fine with not seeing him again. No sadness and disappointment, as with Rushed Lifestyle Guy.

Also, B called to confirm our meeting next week -- he's the one who's too busy to meet before then. I sort of like his manner on the phone. He doesn't try to be entertaining or impress, just get the job done, which is fine with me. We spoke for about 30 seconds: lunch or coffee? Lunch. Where? I'll get back to you by next week. Good, looking forward to it. Bye for now.

My friend G. points out in an email that it's "all a crapshoot anyway. Our very individual existence is a biological accident, so how can there be any method in the pursuit of love?" He recommends meeting without knowing anything about the candidate and just flopping into bed. I see what he means: it makes more sense to rationalize sex, where, let's be honest, the picture tells you 90% of what you want to know, and the other 10% is available in the first five minutes.