Posts Tagged ‘men’

“Susan, you’re wrong.”

Posted: January 17, 2013 in Dating, funny stories
Tags: , ,

“I am?” I asked.

“Yes you are. No offense…”

“Oh, none taken,” I said as I rolled my eyes, leaned back into the booth and stretched my legs out. I took a long pull on my beer and waited. The evening had started to get interesting.

“Oh good. I mean, I know what I’m talking about and it would be good for you to listen to me.”

I snorted. “Oh, trust me Thomas, I am all ears,” I said and flashed the most brilliant smile that I could while I mentally chastised myself for agreeing to this blind date.

Thomas seemed like a nice man. Actually, he was. He was nice looking and had a profitable landscaping business and was considered quite a catch. He had been divorced for over a year and had decided to start dating again at the age of 50. It’s a tough thing to do for anyone at that age. Shit, it’s a tough thing at any age.

He apparently had seen me at a party a few weeks ago. I was there but only for a few minutes. I had stopped by my friend’s house to drop off a book and stayed for a quick drink before hitting the road for the weekend. He had asked who I was. My friend had agreed to call me for him and the rest, as they say, is history.

Sitting across from him at the restaurant, I had spent most of the evening listening to him tell me about his business, how successful it was and then the gory details of his divorce.

Rule #1 when dating – never, EVER discuss your ex. Ever. Shoot yourself in the foot and drink bleach before you even go near it. If you feel the urge to say something, stick a sharp object in your eye before uttering one word.

You will make a better impression with a steak knife hanging out of your eye than you will in slamming your ex.

For the love of God, trust me on this one.

But I had been polite and listened and nodded when it seemed appropriate and prayed that one of us would suddenly come down with severe food poisoning and have to leave.

But now, after hearing about what a bitch his ex was, he now felt entitled to tell me how to run my business.

I was suddenly fascinated in watching a train wreck unfold before my eyes.

I took another long pull of my beer and hoped it would hit my blood stream at any second and give me that warm, fuzzy and giggling moment that would make all of this seem like fun.

“Well, I’m glad that you are listening. So, the first thing you need to do with your job is admit the fact that you are somewhat limited because you are a woman.”

I choked on my beer. No, really, I actually did choke. I’m not making this up. I coughed and quickly put my hand over my nose and pinched my nostrils before it came out. That’s the worse thing when a beverage comes out of your nose and it’s carbonated. It hurts.

I grabbed a napkin and wiped my nose with it.

“So, Thomas, what you’re saying is because I have breasts and a uterus, I somehow can’t do my job as well as….a man? Is that right?”

“Yes, but it’s not your fault. I mean, it is just the way you were born. Oh, you have nice breasts, by the way.”

I looked down at my chest. I pulled my shirt out and kept looking. Yep, there they were. I still had them. I looked up at him and back down at my breasts. I pushed my shirt back towards my chest and smiled.

“So maybe if I got rid of them, I could be more…intelligent? Is that because I know when I try to think, all the blood rushes towards them?”

His smile froze on his face. He furrowed his brow. He thought for a moment and a confused look came over his face.

“What? Huh? That just…are you serious….I mean that doesn’t make any sense. Oh wait, you’re kidding, right?” he said and started laughing.

“No. I’m not. When I try to think, my breasts grow. Just like when you try to think and your dick gets hard. Same thing, ya know?”

“No! Wait! You aren’t making any sense.”

“Well neither are you. You just sat here and told me how wrong I am in the way I run my business, which you know nothing about, and then said it’s because I’m a woman as if that is some sort of disability or defect.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean it’s because women get all emotional and it will get in the way of your judgement. You’re twisting my words here and I don’t like that.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to twist your words. I’m trying to think and my breasts are getting bigger by the second and I am feeling a bit suffocated by them, so it’s probably the lack of oxygen going to my brain. I think I may be brain-damaged from my breasts,” I said.

I was pinching myself under the table to stop myself from laughing.

This was too much fun.

“Brain damaged? What are you talking about?”

“Thomas, now how can I answer a question about being brain-damaged IF I’M BRAIN DAMAGED? How is that supposed to work, huh?”

He rubbed his eyes and looked around.

“OK, I think I’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here…”

“No, you haven’t. You’re fine. I’m the one with the emotional breasts, remember?”

“Stop talking about your breasts! That’s not what I meant!” he said. His voice was loud and he was annoyed with me.

“What? You don’t like my breasts now? What’s wrong with them?”

“THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH YOUR BREASTS!” His voice was loud enough that several people turned and looked at him. A couple of men then looked at me and then at my breasts and gave me a thumbs up. I waved back at them, smiled and gave them a thumbs up.

“Thomas, now don’t start getting emotional on me. Pretty soon, you’ll be acting like a woman and embarrass me,” I said.

I stood up, got my purse and finished the last of my beer.

“Where are you going? You’re leaving? But I wanted to tell you more about what you should be doing with your business.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t stay. I have to go before I start thinking again because if I do…”

“Please, don’t say it. Don’t say a word, ever again, about your breasts…”

“Thomas, trust me, you’ll never have to worry about me talking to you ever again. Ever. You’re too emotional for me. You know, like a woman?”

Two men gave me high 5’s as I walked out. I declined their offers of having a drink with them. One said as I walked by “I don’t know what he was so upset about, but you look just fine to me.”

I stopped, smiled at him and kissed him on his cheek. “Thanks,” I said and left.

I never did return Thomas’ phone calls. If I’m so inferior to him, why waste his time?

(That last sentence needs a sarcasm font).

My friend’s first internet date. Oh geez….

Posted: February 29, 2012 in Dating, funny stories
Tags: , , , ,

This is a story from a dear friend of mine. We were recently emailing each other back and forth. She had just signed-up for some dating sites and was nervous, and rightly so. She knew of my experiences in this field, so I’ve been coaching her along as best as I can.

This is her email to me. I knew it had been a bad date but she decided to tell me her story via email. I’m glad she did because she gave me permission to post it. I didn’t start laughing until finished reading it because…my jaw was dropped too far down my face to make a sound.

My friend is a wonderful, smart, gracious woman who has found herself  in the situation of wanting to date again and not knowing how to go about it. When you read this, keep in mind how nice and sweet my friend is. She hates to hurt anyone’s feelings, as most of us do. When we go silent on a date, you’re done for. I advised her to just not respond back to this man and let it die the death it needs too. She lives in the UK and anyone would be proud to know her, such as I am.

Men – take note. You have a very rare opportunity to be privy to a real conversation between two women discussing something that we would never let you know about – MEN.

Here are her words:

“My ex has IBS” and other things maybe not wise to say on a first date.

Well I did it. After years of being on my own I joined an internet dating site (or 3). I’m lonely and need someone to have a drink with who I may possibly end up snogging the face off of. Hey it may be even more, at the end of the evening. With any luck.

Ok so after a month or so on the site(s) I finally got a bite (in a manner of speaking). Amongst all those with names like “nicebum” “Icanmakeuhapy” “lookin4me?” “wannaplzu” and “cum&getme” and those who can’t string a sentence together I found Mike. Mike  seemed fine. We chatted for a couple of weeks or so. Most days. OK, every day. We had a lot in common and the conversations were good. His picture was a little odd in that it wasn’t that easy to get a fix on his looks. I found him on Facebook (though didn’t add) and again he had an out of focus shot which as far as I could see looked extremely different. However the conversation was good for the most part although he had a tendency to talk about himself a lot. Or when he did it was difficult to get him to stop.

A date was arranged. “Ok let me do this,” I thought:

 “How bad could it really be?”

First warnings:

1)     Couldn’t text me because he was out of credit….ok I can cope with that, he emailed me just before I left to say:

2)     He had eaten dinner and:

3)     What he would be wearing and:

4)     The fact that he hadn’t shaved because he was out of shaving gel.

 
I stood outside the prearranged meet spot and looked hopefully around for a man in jeans and a blue jumper. One who was “carrying just a little extra weight” and ruggedly stubbly. A few possibilities walked on by.

Appearing in front of me was one squattish very rounded individual who looked either like he had been out in the rain or had not washed his hair for a decade, I couldn’t decide which. On balance I would say the latter. The idea of the rugged look was obliterated by the “cant be bothered to shave and another few days and I would look like a yeti” look. I looked around nervously…did I know anyone in the vicinity? I would never ever live this down if I saw anyone familiar. But hey….how bad could it really be?


Then he spoke…”whatcha awwwroight”. Oh my freeking heck! I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Please I can’t do this,” I thought. This is not the kind of conversation we had online; this must be an imposter. I can’t see this person having the same cultural interests as me….maybe he read my profile and did some online research on subjects before contacting me.

But sadly it seems I am a nice person and thought I would at least go through with the film that we were going to see. A comedy, although by the looks of it all the laughs (albeit mortified ones) would not be on the screen this evening. He reached in for the obligatory “hello” kiss on the cheek thing and I ensured that it didn’t hit its target.

Looking about the shops and cafes around us were closed. There was the pub or McDonald’s. He of course had already eaten, I hadn’t mistakenly believing that as we were meeting an hour and a half or so before the film, if indeed we did go to the film, we may just be able to pick something up. No he didn’t want to go to the pub as it was full of young people. And too loud. And he didn’t drink.

We went to get the tickets in advance. Ok, “we” is an exaggeration. Cue him standing by. No sign of him offering to pay. Not an issue with me, although he is the one working of course ( I don’t at the moment). However I still don’t know how he engineered me putting my card in to pay for the tickets. He didn’t even offer to be paying me back for his at this point. I was somewhat bemused and we made our way to McDonald’s.

There were cafes within a few minutes walk that were open, however it seems a coffee in one of those nice places was the height of sophistication.. “Oim awways takin me son in McDonald’s.” I bought myself a cup of tea and some fries. He bought himself a coffee. We found the last table in the place. And now it was conversation time. How bad could it be?


Ok well I can’t remember a lot of the conversation. And that is probably a good thing. Let us just say that every question he asked me (which I think probably amounted to two or three at this point) was met with me saying about two words and them him butting in and taking over. I think I may have said a total of about 40 words in the hour and a bit we were sat there. There were lots of discussions (albeit one-sided) about food.

I explained I was allergic to fish. He looked at me with concern. I thought  “Oh he is actually listening. Then he said “What would happen if you kissed someone who had eaten fish?  It’s just I had fish and chips for tea”.

“Don’t worry, I am in no danger,” I nearly said. But I am too polite. “What happens if you eat it? Do you go all blotchy? I ask because, well….my ex has Irritable Bowel Syndrome she gets really bad diarrhea when she gets it too.”

I looked down at my fries….. I then was treated to a detailed description of how his son is being turned against him and won’t come and stay over anymore and all the intricacies of his issues with his ex’s new husband, the schools, parking tickets, lack of money, work problems. But mainly his ex’s diarrhea and issues that he has with just about the whole world.

I felt sick.

Finally and painfully, it was time to make our way back to the cinema. I wanted some sweets. I got a very small amount as “Oi’ll get this” was tempered with him telling me how I should have gotten it in the supermarket earlier that day as it was so expensive at the cinema.

It’s a bag of sweets mate…not caviar.

He then proceeded to ask for a “Cheeky monkey” ice cream milk shake costing 3 times as much. It’s called “Chunky Monkey.” He couldn’t  even get that right. Heck, even the little things were getting very, very annoying. I went to the ladies and texted my friends and updated my Facebook with a”Rescue me please!” message to my friends from my iPhone. I was in there a while but knew I just had to go and sit with this man for the next couple of hours. I was already stressing that other people coming into the complex would be met with a video screen of the different cinema audiences and may be able to pick me out.

The adverts before the film were “funny”….they were however not “funny” enough in my opinion to warrant a loud running commentary or laughter that sounded like a cross between a hyena and well…another load of hyenas really. Mortifying. Totally mortifying.

I toyed with the idea of going to the ladies room again and not coming back. But I am, it seems, too polite. And I wanted to see the film. I had paid enough for the damn tickets. I surreptitiously kept looking at my phone (updating Facebook texting friends) and giving one word answers to anything he said (not much and the single word responses seemed to be sufficient for his purposes). He didn’t seem to care.

The film started. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that each on-screen joke and even just a piece of slightly amusing dialogue was met with a huge roar of laughter and the odd snort. OK a lot of snorts. I wanted to go home.

Part way through I heard snoring. Someone was asleep. I looked around and saw it wasn’t anyone asleep, it was his breathing. And his elbow was trying to touch mine. I really wanted to go home but I didn’t want to leave the cinema because I would then have to deal with that having to talk to him/awkward end of the evening thing. “Please let me stay here and make the film go on forever…”

And so the titles went up and I got up. We left and I fished in my bag for my car parking ticket. There was silence. Then there was  a desperate attempt at a conversation from him. I played lip service and inwardly cursed my decision to wear a skirt and stockings because I was cold. I thought about how I will get out of this without any further embarrassment. If I kept ignoring him, I thought, surely he would get the hint. This couldn’t have been a fun evening for him either. I was totally the worst date ever or had tried to make myself that.

He came with me to my car. He stood there and put his hand in his pocket. And counted out the exact change he needed to pay me back for his ticket (minus the sweets). Then he said he had a fantastic time. I said nothing. I had however ignored him since the diarrhea discussion and done all in my power to make him never want to speak to me again. However the polite side of me appeared again and I apologized for my being caught up on my phone but said my child was ill and the sitter was contacting me for instructions. I don’t know why I didn’t just say “you aren’t my type.” I should have just put him out of his misery.

“Are we still on to meet up Wednesday?” he asked, completely oblivious to the sheen of boredom appearing over my eyes.  Could I say it? No I still couldn’t. I fudged it and said I was worried about my child and didn’t know.

“If you delete me from contacts I will know you aren’t interested in meeting again” he said giving me the opening I needed. I still couldn’t do it. What am I some kind of idiot? I said the film had been good and it was nice to meet him. He reached in for a peck on the cheek (or maybe more) and I moved my head so he missed. Again.

I shut the door and stayed in the car texting friends and updating Facebook until I was sure he had left the car park. I was worried he may follow me. OK not really but I can’t take any chances.

He can’t text me for the moment..  Thank God.  He has no credit. He has left me an email (to my anonymous account so he doesn’t have my name) and a message on the site saying he had a fab time.

I am trying to formulate a put down. I am trying not to hurt his feelings. Hell knows why. I am too polite. How hard can it be to say “Do you know what? No, not ever, No. No No, to someone you never have to see again….

Just how hard can it be?

These are my words because apparently they need to be said:

1) Please shower and clean-up before you go out on a date.

2) If you don’t have money and/or are unemployed, most of us don’t care. We really don’t. We just want to have a nice evening out. Tell us that and a good woman will figure out a nice place to meet and just have a cup of coffee.

3) NEVER EVER talk about your ex-anything! If she asks (which she shouldn’t do on the first few dates) just smile sweetly and say “I have nothing but nice things to say about her” and change the subject.

4) We know within seconds of meeting you what we think and what we want.  Don’t argue with me on this point. I’m a woman and I know.

5) When a woman goes quiet on a date, you’ve blown it. Try getting her to talk and then SHUT THE HELL UP and don’t say anything.

6) Say NOTHING about your attraction to her. We get it. We really do.

7) If you can reach her mind, you can later reach her soul. Maybe.

These are just a few things that come to mind when I read my friend’s email. I don’t want her to give up and I don’t want her to feel that she had done anything wrong. She hasn’t. This just wasn’t the guy for her and that’s why we date.  Hopefully she will soon be laughing about this because that’s all you can do sometimes. Have an adventure, pat yourself on the back for stepping up to the plate and laugh about how funny life can be. And then go do it again.

The day I got kicked out of a “Men’s Only” club. It wasn’t my fault, really.

Posted: February 28, 2012 in funny stories
Tags: , ,

No it wasn’t.

I didn’t mean to cause anyone so much upset just because I walked into a club with a vagina.

Had I known it would have upset them so much, I would have left it at home.

But I was on the road and had arranged to meet my friends halfway. I had gotten lost and this was years before cell phone existed, so you had to do the old-fashioned thing – stop somewhere and get directions and hope everyone made it.

I was going along on the freeway and was on a section of it that goes through a very expensive and exclusive part of the Bay Area. Everywhere you looked were these beautiful hills, huge houses and a golf course that has a lake.

Just the kind of area that you knew they made their money either in the high-tech field or they were all drug dealers. Maybe both, by the looks of their houses and gated communities.

I was born and raised here, so being out in this area was nothing new to me. So you think I would know where I was going, how to get there and how to give correct directions.

Not true. I had been driving up and down the same stretch of highway, trying to find the location I told my friends to meet me at. Apparently it no longer existed and now I was beginning to think it never had.

I finally pull off the freeway and followed a road up a small hill because I could see that there was some sort of business there and I figured they would know where I was trying to go. Plus the next gas station was over 20 miles away, so up the hill I went.

I pulled into the parking lot and looked around. I was a bit panicked because I was already 30 minutes late and confused. It was a small building and there were several cars in the parking lot. I saw that the sign said it was some type of country club and I figured it had to do with the golf course that was running through the area.

I walked into the lobby and looked around. I was in the reception area and no one was around, but it was beautifully furnished and pleasant. I pulled back my mane of hair and tied it back. I had been driving with the windows down and under normal circumstances my hair is out of control. The wind had made it worse and I didn’t want to scare anyone.

I walked up to the counter and waited. I was tapping my fingers and getting more and more concerned about how late I was in meeting my friends when a man came out from an office, saw me and stopped. Dead in his tracks and stared at me. I immediately checked to make sure I had tied all my hair back and quickly looked down to see if my blouse had gotten unbuttoned and my breasts were hanging out. No, my girls were fine, I was decently dressed and my zipper was zipped. I looked back up at him and said hello.

“You can’t be here. You’re not allowed in here, so you better go.”

“Huh? What did you say? What do you mean?” was all I could figure out to say. He wasn’t making any sense at all.

“This is a club for men only and you’re not a man, so you have to go.”

I shook my head. This can’t be right. “Really? You figured that out all by yourself. What gave me away? My hair? My breasts? What tipped you off?” I couldn’t help it. The man was an idiot.

“Don’t get smart with me,” he said as he hurriedly scooted (yes, scooted) past me and opened the front door and motioned for me to leave.

“No,” I said and folded my arms across the breasts that had given me away. “You can’t make me leave. This is a free country and I only stopped here to get directions.”

“Look here young lady, only men can be here,” he said and then made a sweeping motion with his arm to get me to leave.

I was furious. Never in my life had I ever heard these words before. I grew-up in a country club as a kid and I was well aware of the subtle discrimination that some people had towards women or minorities or people who were deemed not good enough because of their income level and/or job.

I was also raised with a family that would have no part of that and threatened to sell their membership if the unspoken rules weren’t changed to allow people of all walks of life to join. They changed the rules and I learned how messed up some people can be that think they are better than anyone else.

So, no one was going to kick me out of anywhere and certainly not this little pip squeak that I could easily drop-kick across the parking lot.

“I just want directions to this place I am supposed to meet my friends. That’s all I want, but now I want to stay here. You can’t bar me from this place just because I have a uterus. I think that’s against the law, if I’m not mistaken.”

He turned beet red. I think the word “uterus” did him in. He got flustered and looked around and then closed the door and walked back behind the counter and picked up the phone. I felt a moment of panic as I saw myself in the back of a police car and spending the night in a holding cell because of using the word “uterus” without written permission.

But he wasn’t calling the police. He whispered to someone that there was “a situation” in the lobby. I sort of liked being referred to as “a situation.”

I then heard voices behind the closed-door. I smiled and walked up to the door and opened it. I think he squealed a bit.

Sitting there were about six men, playing cards, drinking and having a good old-time. They looked up when I came in and everyone stopped talking and just stared at me.

“Sorry to interrupt your game, but I am lost and I was hoping someone could give me directions.”

You would have thought that I looked like an alien that just stepped off of a space ship that landed in the parking lot. No one said a word and I just stood there. I cleared my throat and looked back at them.

The idiot behind the counter had hung-up the phone and rushed in behind me. Fortunately, for him, he did not touch me or try to haul me out of the room. He was babbling something about it not being his fault.

They were just a bunch of old, fat, white men that had nothing better to do than have a little club to play poker. I don’t have a problem with that but I do have a problem with someone telling me I can’t be somewhere.

One of them spoke up and asked me what I wanted. I told him and he gave me directions. He knew just what I was talking about. I thanked him and then said I thought it was illegal to have a club like their’s and didn’t appreciate being treated like crap.

No one said anything and that was my cue to leave.

When I finally met-up with my friends a few minutes later, I told them the story. They wanted to get their pitchforks and go storm the place.

I wanted food and wine.

I wanted to change the world, right then and there, but I couldn’t. I did, however, stayed where someone said I couldn’t, got what I wanted, said my peace and then left on my own terms.

I always think about this when I drive on that section of freeway. I think the next time I do, I will stop in and say hello.

Should I wait for dessert or climb out the bathroom window now?

Posted: February 23, 2012 in Dating, funny stories
Tags: , , , ,

This was the question I kept asking myself the entire time I was sitting across from Richard during dinner.

It was our first date (and our last though he didn’t know that) and even though I had just met him, I knew he didn’t have a shot at me. Based on the way he was acting, he obviously thought it was a foregone conclusion that he did have a chance. That much was apparent by the way he looked at me. I was tempted at one point to just flash him my breasts and get it over with but that didn’t seem like the right thing to do. But part of me wanted him to know EXACTLY what he was never going to get.

I really should not date.

The reasons I knew this so quickly were several. The first goof he made was mentioning my height.

“Wow, how tall are you?” he asked.

“I’m 5’7”. Why?”

“You seem much taller.”

I look down at my feet and back at him. He knew my height before we met. It’s part of the mating ritual. “Well Richard, sometimes we women wear something called high heels. You ever hear of those?”

Snort. “Oh, yeah, I see,” he says as he looks down at my feet. “You have very pretty feet. Do you like to have them rubbed?”

Major red flag but I maintained my composure. “We’ll see,” was about the only answer I could muster.  I was hungry and I can suffer through many things when I am. I decided not to bail yet. I really do not like to be rude, even when provoked.

We sit down for dinner and the waiter asks us if we would like anything to drink. I almost shout my drink order. Richard gives him his and then…he…dismisses…the…waiter…with…a…wave…of…his…hand….

Oh no, he did not! I cringe and smile at the waiter.

I settle back and try to convince myself that I am having fun, that he is probably a nice man and is just nervous. I ask him how his day went.

“Well, first of all, it took me forever to get here. The traffic was horrible, so I am hoping it will all be worth it.”

“Probably not,” was all I could say as I took a VERY large gulp of my margarita. “I hate my life” was all I could think.

He smiles. “The night is still young. You do know, don’t you, that I am quite a catch.”

I almost laughed out loud, but he had such a serious look on his face that I managed to maintain my composure. “Is that right? Now why is that?” He didn’t know me well enough to catch the sarcasm.

“Yes I am,” he says as he takes out his phone and starts to show me pictures of the house he owns in San Francisco. He has about 10 different shots of it. “You see, I own this house and I’m retired, so I have property and that’s a really good thing. You know, the last six dates I was on, all the women proposed to me. Seriously, they did. On the first date.”

“What did they propose, exactly?”

He laughs and reaches across the table and puts his hand on my arm and holds it. “I do love your sense of humor.”

“Me too. It helps me not to go insane on a daily basis. Sometimes hourly,” I say as I pull my arm away and take another slam of my drink.

The waiter comes back over and asks us if we are ready to order. I lost my appetite somewhere during this, but I didn’t care. I ordered a huge steak with potatoes, salad with Ranch dressing and asked that it all be topped off with a ton of onions and garlic. Lots of onions and garlic.

Richard raises an eyebrow. “You sure that’s a good idea, the onions and garlic, because…..”

Then he winked! He winked at me!

“I am positive that it’s the best idea I’ve had all week,” I say as I hand the waiter my menu and sit back with my arms crossed.

“Well then, I’ll have the same,” he says and smiles. I hate his smile now. I hate his dyed hair and his smug look.

“Did I tell you about the car accident I had recently?”

I sigh. “No, you sure didn’t. I can hardly wait it hear it,” I say as I signal the waiter for another drink.

He then proceeds to tell me about getting rear-ended in San Francisco. By now dinner has arrived and I start jamming the food down my throat. I figure as long as I am doing that, I’m not obligated to say anything. This was a good idea of mine, so I just kept chewing away while he talked.

“I’m at this stop sign and this idiot rear ends me and shoves me into the car in front of me. I get out and the asshole can barely speak English. You know how maddening that is. So it ends up my car is totaled and at least he has insurance, but I was hurt. My airbag deployed and I ended up needing surgery on my shoulder. Here, let me show you,” he says.

He then begins to take off his shirt – I am not kidding, as God as my witness, I am not – and starts to show me the scars on his arm, shoulder and across his chest. I stopped him when he started to take his under shirt off.  There really is just so much I can take.

“No!” I scream. “Please don’t do that. I believe you,” I say as I thrust my arm across the table and stop him.

“Oh, sorry. So anyway, now I”m suing his ass because I think I’m worth it. I am a good person who didn’t do anything wrong and he should pay. He should pay, right?”

“Right! God damn morons! They let anyone drive now days. Son of a bitch!” I shout. He smiles.

The waiter comes over and clears our table. It’s time for my getaway and I can hardly wait. I really need to use the bathroom and just as I am excusing myself, Richard orders dessert. For both of us. With coffee.

“You need to get a little meat on your bones. I like that in a woman.”

I smile. “So do I,” and walk away. I hear the waiter chuckle and I smile back at him and roll my eyes.

I get to the bathroom and look around. There is a very small window that if I crawl through, I can come out the other side of the parking lot and run. If I time it right, he won’t see me walk by since we are sitting next to a window. Maybe when I get near the window, I can just crawl underneath it.

I stare at the window. It’s too small and I’m afraid I’ll get stuck, which would not be a good way to end another date from hell. I go back to the table, head down but telling myself it will all be over soon.

 I hadn’t said much at all during the last two hours and yet I felt exhausted. I also had to listen to his story about his daughter and everyone else in his family. He had never asked me one question or showed any interest in me at all. That was fine. I didn’t want to know him any longer. I had behaved myself and I was done.

While we were walking out, I quietly gave the waiter a large tip. Richard had been so rude to him and I figured he probably didn’t tip well either. The waiter smiled and I smiled back.

Walking me to my car, he put his arm around my waist very tightly. This gave him a very high creep factor and I felt myself turn into dead weight. Twenty more feet to go and I would be free and clear.

“Well, thank you for such a nice dinner Richard. It was most interesting and I’m glad I got to meet you,” I said very formally. Translation – “Don’t ever touch me or call me again” but I did say this with a very sweet smile on my face as I opened the car door.

He stopped me from opening the door further, put his hands on my shoulder and then guided me a few feet away. He told me to stand still and then stepped up onto a curb so he could be taller than me.

I wanted to knee him in his nuts but doubted he had any.

He then leaned forward to kiss me and I stepped to the right and watched him fall off the curb and slam into my car.

Justice was mine!

I thanked him for dinner, jumped in my car and waved as I drove off. He waved back at me while he rubbed his knee that he hit with my car.

Needless to say, I never did return his phone calls and text messages except the first one where I texted back “Find someone else to impress and be sure to leave your shirt on during dinner.”

The steak was awesome, though.

My first internet date. Kill me now.

Posted: February 21, 2012 in Dating, funny stories
Tags: , , ,

I “met” someone online a few years ago and it was one of the worst dating experiences in my life. It was so bad, I never told anyone about it. This person’s name was Adam and he knew Patty who knew Marcia who knew Samantha who knew me. I don’t know any of these people except Samantha, who still hasn’t heard the end of my wrath for putting Adam in contact with me.

I was turning 50 and was looking forward to it. I truly mean this; I actually like getting older. Adam was given my email address, with my permission, and that is how we met. I figured since it had been awhile since I had dated, meeting someone new would be a great birthday present to myself.

 Even though I enjoyed getting older, there were a few surprises about it I hadn’t expected such as my metabolism shutting down completely and finding 20 extra pounds were added to my hips, butt, stomach and thighs overnight. Some fat fairy came, waved a wand while I was sleeping and I woke-up, unable to fit into my jeans. It took a year to lose that weight because in addition to waving a wand to make me gain weight, the little bitch fairy also decided it would be fun to have my metabolism start to work in reverse.

So I began my workouts and walking and watching calories and nothing changes. Not one damn thing changes for over 6 weeks. Then one day, I saw the scale (all scales are evil) actually move a billionth of an inch to the left! Oh Dear God! One year later I am back to my fighting weight.

I had not dated in a few years because I hate it. I hate it so much I can’t describe it. I hate the awkwardness of it, I hate the fact that I am actually hoping someone likes me and that drives me crazy because I never care if someone likes me. If they don’t, it bothers me for about 1 minute and then I’m fine.

I hate getting ready for a date and finding myself feeling like I am 13 years old again and no one wants to be 13 again. I hate finding out that the person I am spending all evening with isn’t someone I want to spend all evening with. I suck at small talk and I hate spending hours trying to behave myself, not snort when I laugh, not be able to eat my food really fast (which is the way I eat) and worrying if something is stuck in my teeth. I never worry about these things when I am at home. I like being alone. I like spending time with myself and my pets, watching a good movie and talking on the phone. I like sitting in bed all morning, reading and drinking coffee and not having to close the bathroom door, ever.

But Samantha tells me about this guy and based on 3 other women’s opinions, I agree and give out my email address.

A few days later, his email arrives and I read it. His name is Adam and I see his picture attached to his email. Shit! I realize. I have to send a picture back and don’t have any. Maybe he won’t ask.

So the mating ritual starts. He tells me all about himself and I can see his face, but then he tells me he is 5’3” tall. What? I think. I am 5’ 7”! And I love wearing high heels and I’m not changing my ways this late in the game.

I pride myself on accepting people “just as they are” and I can hear the thoughts in my head about how short he is. I remind myself not to judge people but he’s so short! I tell myself that it’s all about “the person inside” but he’s so short! I tell myself that it’s good to get out once in a while and meet people but he’s so frickin’short!

Why didn’t anyone tell me he was so short? Probably because they are better people than me and can see past how short he is!

I decide to be a good person and not let this bother me. I mean, lots of men have dated and married taller women, right? Besides, we are just talking about maybe meeting one day and nothing more, right?

We begin a lengthy email and phone relationship over the next few weeks. He lives in Kansas and seems to be a very nice man. He begins calling me almost every night and this starts to bother me. I start to get a sense of obligation to him as if I have to be home or available every time he calls. It’s not that I mind talking to him; it’s that I mind him just assuming I am always around.

So I start not answering the phone every time he calls. Not to be mean, just to get out of this habit I have become to him. He starts leaving messages and sending more emails. I respond once in a while and this prompts him to decide to come out and meet me. This I did not expect, but I guess this is how this whole email dating goes.

He tells me he wants to come out for a weekend and we could meet and spend time together. I agree because, well the truth of the matter is, I am bored. We agree on a weekend and he makes his travel arrangements.

“There is something I should tell you about myself” he says one night. I feel myself get tense because it does not sound good.

“Yeah? What is that?” I ask. I know at this point he is about to tell me something horrible, like he is a Nazi or a convicted felon. I hold my breath and wait.

“I have this problem with my nose.”

Huh? I think. What the hell does that mean?

“I see. What do you mean? You have a nose, right? I saw your picture and I distinctly remember seeing a nose.”

He chuckles. “Yes, I have a nose. You are really funny!”

I feel my eyes rolls up. “Thanks” I say.

“Anyway, years ago when I was little, I broke it. Ever since then, smells really bother me. It’s like my nose is overdrive and I can’t tolerate most smells, like perfume and cigarettes.”

Cigarettes? I think as I look at the lit one I am holding in my left hand.

“I’m really glad you don’t smoke.”

This is the exact point where I hit the crossroad. It’s the crossroad I dread. It’s the crossroad where I have to decide to truly be myself and talk honestly or where I decide to try to be the person this guy is looking for.

It’s the crossroad where everything I have believed I throw out the window because here I am sitting in my tiny living room, 50 and alone with no prospects or where I tell myself that my situation doesn’t bother me and I love my life just the way it is. It’s where I make the decision about whom I really am and what I want or do I take door #2 and try to “get with the program” and find someone to be with.

“Hey, you still there?” he asks.

“Yes, sorry, the cat just did something funny.” Cough. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“You have cats? That’s too bad because I’m really allergic to them.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take them out tonight and shoot them.”

Long pause. Then he laughs and tells me again how much he enjoys my sense of humor.

“Yes, so you have said before” I say as I quickly stub out my cigarette.

I suddenly feel as if my Dad has just caught me smoking and I’m 16 again. I forgot for a moment that I am on the phone and he can’t see me. Just my dog and cats, which are staring at me reproachfully. They are the only ones that can do that and get away with it.

He then proceeds to tell me all about the problems he has with being so sensitive to smells. He doesn’t use anything that is scented and goes to great lengths to stay away from anything with any type of scent, such as perfumes, deodorants, shampoos and conditioners, all cleaning products, lotions and he says he can’t even tolerate the smell of make-up on women.

  Make-up? Oh dear, I think.

“Wow” I say, “that must be really tough on you.”

“Yes, it does make things more difficult for me.”

So, this was my warning shot. This was the red flag. This was knowing that there would be no way in hell I could stand to be around this man. As nice as he is, I would never in a million years, give up my make-up, heels and beauty routine for anyone. I’m in my 50’s!

I proceed the chain smoke throughout the rest of the conversation, being very careful not to have the phone near my mouth while I inhale and exhale.

He then tells me when he can come out to California and I light up another cigarette and tell him that works for me.

 I hang-up and throw myself down on the couch, rub my eye and heave a deep sigh. I am so screwed now.

For a few weeks before he arrives, I air out my apartment, scrub the walls, wash the curtains and wash every piece of clothing that I own. I keep the windows down in my car to air it out and the day before he arrives, I have it detailed.

  I meet him at the airport on a Saturday morning. When I see him, he is even shorter than he said. He said he was 5’3”, but he is closer to 5’2”. He waves and he also looks 15 years older than his picture.

 He is hauling his suitcase and I am tempted to carry it for him, but I resist. I go to shake his hand as he leans over to hug me and I poke him in the eye. He says he is fine and we walk to my car. I am wearing tennis shoes and still looking down on him. I feel horrible for what I am thinking and the more I try not to think that way, the more I do.

 We get in the car and I ask him where he is staying. He gives me a blank look and says he hadn’t thought about it. I realize that he planned on staying with me! No way is that going to happen, but I let it pass and say “Well, there are plenty of hotels and motels around here. Let’s go find you one.”

We spend the next 4 hours driving up and down El Camino Real so he can go and smell the rooms before he decides to register. He finally finds one and only after I told him I was tired, hungry and unwilling to spend another moment going to hotels and smelling their rooms.

I did not know at the time that this would be the high point of his visit.

We go out to dinner at a Mexican restaurant, but he had me wait in line for him so he could go stand in the parking lot because someone who was also waiting for a table was wearing perfume.

He took 45 minutes to order his dinner and kept the waitress standing there the entire time as he asked very detailed questions about each item on the menu. Every time she would answer his question, he would nod his head and then take another minute to ask the next question. She would look at me, pleading for me to do something, but all I could do was shrug my shoulders.

He brought his own bottled water and had to wipe the entire chair and table with a handkerchief before he would sit down. I didn’t know what to say and in hindsight, there wasn’t anything to say.

I did the best I could to keep the conversation going, but it was useless. We had great conversations on the phone, but when actually faced with meeting him and spending time with him, I had nothing to say. I could never remember meeting such a prissy and feminine man before in my life and any initial attraction was gone. In fact, I found him very annoying and unfriendly. He appeared to be attracted to me and this increased my annoyance and displeasure, but I decided to make the best out of a bad situation and tried to be as polite and friendly as possible. But I was so disappointed that this wasn’t turning out as well as I had hoped.

I know that when you are single, you make the best of it and it is often a relief to be out of a bad marriage or relationship, but there is always a part of you that wishes for the real thing. We tell ourselves that we like being single (and very often I do) but in the back of your mind, there is always hope and that’s why we date. We date because we haven’t completely given up and curiosity will get the best of us when there is a possibility.

So I sat there, disappointed and a bit sad, but not hopeless. Just felt like I was wasting my time.

With dinner over, we walk back to my car and he takes my hand. My first thought was to pull it away, but I didn’t. I just smiled and kept walking. As we drive to his hotel, he asks me to come in. I am dying for a cigarette and don’t want to spend another moment with him, so I tell him I am exhausted. Just then I realize that he is here for the weekend to visit with me and I am stuck with him. There is no way to get out of this, so I tell him I need some sleep and I’ll see him in the morning. He leans over to kiss me and I turn my face so he ends up kissing my cheek.

 I get home and immediately go across the street to the store and buy a pack of cigarettes and smoke several outside my apartment. I am dreading tomorrow as we are spending the day in San Francisco.

 He calls me later that night to say goodnight.

 “I had a really nice time tonight and I’m glad I came out to see you” he says.

 “Yeah, me too. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at 9:00. How does that sound?”

 “Sounds great. I miss you already” he says and as soon as I hear that, I light up another cigarette and pray for a hurricane so that I don’t have to see him tomorrow.

 I pick him up the next morning and he tries to kiss me again.

 “Would you please just stop trying to do that?” I ask. I can’t believe how some people just can’t take a hint.

 “Gosh, I guess you got up on the wrong side of the bed today” he says and walks over to my car. I decide that if I am going to kill him, this would not be the right place. Too many witnesses and I’m not sure he’s worth going to jail for.

 We take off and hit the freeway. He kept giving me detailed instructions on what lane to drive in because the car in front of us had too many fumes coming out. About the fifth time he did that, I held up my right hand and made a fist.

 “You see this fist? If you tell me one more time how to drive, what to do or anything else, this fist is coming across and hitting you on your nose.”

 “I just love your sense of humor! Hey, move out of this lane, will ya? That truck is really making me sick.”

 We go to Fisherman’s Wharf but can’t stay there because of the smell. He didn’t like Pier 39 because there were too many people wearing after shave or cologne. He didn’t want to eat at any place I picked because it smelled. We ended up getting hot dogs and eating on a park bench and only because I insisted and was starving.

I realize this is one of the worse days of my life but it is almost over. A couple more hours and he is back at his hotel and I’ll never have to see him again. I am thinking this just as a young girl walks by with a cropped top and showing off her perfectly flat stomach. He watches her walk by and then turns to me.

“I have a question for you. How long would it take you to get your stomach to look like that?”

Without missing a beat, I say “About as long as it would take you to grow 6 inches” and I get up, grab my purse and start walking away. He jumps up and starts to follow me.

I turn around and stop. “I don’t think so. You are on your own. Have a nice flight back” and start walking again. He keeps running after me, apologizing and begging me to stop and talk to him. I was deaf to anything he had to say.

I get to my car, unlock the driver side, and get in. He is banging on the passenger side, asking me to please open the door and let him in.

 “I can’t. My stomach is too fat to lean over and unlock the door” I say as I drive away.

 Within a minute, he is calling my cell phone. I ignore it all the way home. I am fighting back tears and bouts of rage. If ever I could be violent, it was now, so I figured the best thing is to just get away from him and write it off as a bad day.

 I finally turn my phone off because he won’t stop calling. I can see he is leaving messages, but I don’t care. I never want to hear from him again, I never want to hear his voice and I don’t want to know him.

 I finally listen to his messages 3 days later and heard all his crying. He left over 5 messages while in San Francisco, 1 from the taxi home from San Francisco, 2 from his hotel room and 1 from the plane.

I am assuming he made it home

But ask me if I care.

Why I need strong and intelligent women in my life

Posted: January 28, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

Because I like to be among my own kind where I am accepted and not competed with.

I also have an almost uncontrollable urge to slap the shit out of weak women.  So, yes, I need that balance.

I find weak and needy women much more pathetic than weak and needy men. With men, you just put him in the category of a friend or co-worker or whatever category seems to fit at the time. It really doesn’t matter.

But I expect more from women and I always will. We procreate, we are the final responsibility for the human race continuing and some whiny little bitch is NOT going to get the work done.

Every so often, one of these will show up for some training. By me. All day. For a few days. It’s not a pretty sight. You almost could feel sorry for them if it wasn’t so annoying. Almost, but not quite.

Some of my clients will send one of their ladies to me and give me a heads up. “Susan, I’m sending Missy (Missy? WTF kind of name is that?) to you for some training. She needs help with her job and I told her about you, so she knows.”

Ahem….”Knows what, exactly?” I ask as I sharpen my blood-red nails and dust off my broom.

“Knows not to whine.”

“Oh, that! OK, then she knows what not to do. What else did you tell her?”

Pause. I hear the sound of the client clearing her throat and getting up and closing the door. “Well, I told her how you are, you know?”

“How I am?”

“Yes. How blunt you are and you don’t accept failure.”

I smile. This is good.

“Are you sending me a lamb for the slaughter…again?”

And that’s what it seems like when I get around a weak and not-to-bright women. Because I don’t accept that. I won’t accept it. Not now and not ever. I don’t buy it that this little lamb cannot speak up for herself. That she cannot make her own decisions and do her job well. I do not agree with that philosophy that any woman cannot be bright, strong and beautiful in her own way.

I do accept, however, that some people are just bitches and get away with it because someone let them.

I’ve been known to throw a book at a woman who was whining. Now, it wasn’t a hard cover book and it didn’t weigh much, but I did pick one up and toss it at her and had it land in her lap. She was trying the crocodile tears on me and it didn’t work, so she got louder. When that didn’t work, she told me I was being mean to her. I explained that if I was mean, I would have yelled at her. Instead I sat there calmly and told her I didn’t buy her little act.

I need strong and intelligent women in my life so I have someone I can talk to and relate to. I need them to make me laugh and be there for me when I need it. I cannot do this with men. I have tried countless times and realized that it’s not them. It’s me. Hard as they may try to listen and understand and as sweet as that is, it’s just not the same.

Men are great but they are not my best friend. Women always have and always will be my best friend. Many men are great friends of mine but they don’t understand what it’s like to be worn out, stretched too thin and work your ass off and still feel like you have failed.

Men don’t know what it’s like to have these bodies that are up one day and then down the next. Men don’t understand why we take on more than we can chew and still stress about the little things we still didn’t get done.

I am constantly coaching women to delegate and smooth things out and I know it falls on deaf ears. I know this and I do the same thing, so it’s hard for me to get on a soap box about it. But at least they have me to listen to them and understand.

Weak women can be helped to be strong by being with strong women. But I think we scare the shit out of them.

Or so I’ve been told.

Spitting?

Posted: June 6, 2011 in funny stories
Tags: , ,

I don’t get it.

I really don’t.

I’m walking down the street, minding my own business as I am really craving cookies and since I don’t have any in the house, I managed to get up, put on my shoes, grab a couple of dollars from my purse and am on a mission from God to make it to the corner store to buy some.

Just a simple thing to do. I’m not bothering anyone.

Suddenly I hear someone spit and I look up. It’s such a gross and disgusting sound, isn’t it?

I mean, my stomach gets that nauseous feeling in it and I had just finished dinner and I could feel it start to move.

I hate this man suddenly. I hate the sound he made. I hate his total and complete disregard for the street that we all share and I hate the fact that he ruined a rather enjoyable walk.

I also hate the fact that I have to now cross the street to avoid him and where he spat because I sure as hell don’t want to see it and I’m going to have to look if I don’t want to step in it.

I don’t get this at all.

I got after a young employee one time for the same thing. We were outside talking during lunch. It was a gorgeous day and many of us were outside enjoying it before having to spend the rest of the afternoon at our desks and staring at computers.

Right in the middle of what I was saying, he turned his head and spit.

Right. There. In. Front. Of. Me.

I gasped.

“Susan, you OK? What’s wrong.” he asked.

My hand was covering my mouth. My eyes were as wide as they could be.

I was struggling not to throw-up and I wanted to slap him.

I finally found my voice. “I can’t believe you did that! That is so gross and I’m feeling a bit sick.”

“Do what?”

“YOU JUST SPIT ON THE CEMENT!”  I screamed as I jumped up and away from it. I had been sitting down on a chair and as I jumped up, the heel of my shoe caught the leg of it and it tumbled behind me as I jumped away. I started to fall towards him and used his chest as a buffer with my hands and pushed myself away from him.

This caused him to be pushed back and he lost his balance for a moment.

All in all, I looked completely stupid and uncoordinated, which does happen to me from time to time.

His face got red and he turned away. He looked down at it then looked behind. He looked everywhere but at me.

“So what? It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? Then why are you looking so embarrassed?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are,” I said. “Now clean it up.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

I glared at him. He was only 16, sweet as could be but I guess he was being raised by wolves. I had not been, My brothers and I were taught these things. I can’t ever remember my brothers, my Dad, my uncles or any male that I’ve known all this time to just turn around and spit in front of me or anyone else.

“Tommy, do I look like I’m kidding?”

He looked at me for a moment and then slowly shook his head.

“Well, you didn’t have to hit me, you know?”

“I didn’t hit you. I bumped into you and I’m sorry but doing that is just…wrong. Now, clean it up and don’t ever do that again.”

He glared at me for a moment. “Look, I don’t think it’s a big deal. I’m sorry and all, but come on! So what?”

“So you think it’s OK to just spit whenever and wherever you want? Shit, why don’t you just whip it out right now and pee all over the street? Is that OK to do?”

He chuckled. “No, of course not.”

“Tell you what Tommy. I’ll make you a deal. You ever spit like that around me again and I’ll go into great details about my period. How’s that for a deal?”

You would have thought by his reaction that I had just admitted to him that I was Hitler and Bin Laden all rolled  up into one nice package and that I was here to kill him. He was paralyzed with fear and revulsion.

I always have a ace up my sleeve. Make no doubt about it.

“No, don’t do that. Stop talking about it! Geez, you’re insane, you know that?” he said as he bent down and used a Kleenex to start cleaning.

I stood there and watched him.

“Thanks Tommy for doing that,” I said.

“No problem. Just don’t talk about ‘that stuff’ to me, ever, OK?”

I smiled. “We’ll see.”

Every so often after that, as I would walk by his desk, I would pull a tampon out of my purse and swing it around.

Tommy never spit again. At least not that I know of.

My Friend At The Laundromat

Posted: June 3, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

My one friend is someone who drives a Datsun 240Z and if you are old enough to remember what that is, your secret will be safe with me.

It’s white and it looks like it has a million miles on it but he looks comfortable in it as if he is the original owner and has become one with his car. Just the way he sits back in it and reads. He has a ponytail (which I adore on some men) and almost always wears a cap. You know, the ones that make you think of England.

I usually pull-up a few spaces over from him. My routine is to park, grab my quarters, hid my purse and walk into the Laundromat with my basket of clothes. Once in a while we will nod to each other, but most of the time he appears to be quite engrossed in his book.

In all the years I’ve seen him, I’ve only seen him talk on his cell phone once. As for me, that’s the main thing I do while I wait for my laundry to be done. I’m bored, waiting out in the car, and I feel it’s my friends obligations to entertain me while I’m bored, so I start calling people.

It’s gotten now to where they know I am doing laundry. They will answer the phone, asking if my clothes are in the washer or the dryer. They are all smart asses.

I am a creature of habit and I’m still not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing.

After 3 years of seeing each other and doing our head nod, this guy finally spoke to me. I was, at the time, being mesmerized by my socks and underwear going round and round in the dryer. I can’t help but think what it would be like to be in there with them. Every time I watch a dryer, I have this thought.

He walked by, smiled and then stopped. I smiled back. Today he stopped, smiled and stood in front of me. Suddenly I didn’t know what to say, so I kept smiling.

I could see he was struggling with what to say. I wanted to start a conversation with him, just to ease up his agony, but I was suddenly tongue-tied.

I could see he had very blue and gentle eyes. I could hear the people in the background who were chattering, yelling at their kids and folding laundry and the constant hum of the machines.

“Hi. How are you today?” he asked.

“I’m bored. How are you?”

“Yeah, I’m bored too.”

He kept smiling and looking at me. Suddenly I was afraid he was going to ask me out for a cup of coffee. At that time, I had a boyfriend and it always seems that as soon as you hook-up with someone, suddenly you become the most desirable creature on the face of the planet to people who didn’t even know you existed before.

Then I thought I am just being silly and vain.

“I guess doing laundry is boring, isn’t it?” he asked. I couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were so blue and looked even bluer against his dark tan. This was someone who either spent a great deal of time working outdoors or went to a tanning salon. I hope it was the former because the latter would not have fit with my summation of him. Plus, it would have bummed me out because it would have ruined my illusion of him.

“Yeah, it is. I usually bring something to read but end up making phone calls instead. It’s like I can’t concentrate on a book when I’m outside.”

He looked at me like I was speaking Greek, but kept his smile going.

We chatted for a few minutes and then my dryer started beeping. I didn’t want to pull out my socks and underwear in front of him – hell, I don’t like to do that in front on anyone – so I ignored it. It could wait and no one would die.

Plus, it’s not like I fold my clothes, so no worries. I try but I usually end up just stuffing them in a drawer that has the fewest number of clothes in them.

He shuffled his feet, looked down at them. “Well, you have a good day,” he said as he walked away. I told him to do the same.

I waited until he was out the door before opening the dryer and shoving my clothes in the basket. It was a poor and pathetic basket; all torn up and hard to carry because both handles were broken, but in my everyday life, buying a laundry basket is not something I think about. I only think about it when I carry it on Sundays.

I put my laundry in the car and looked up and saw him sitting in his car, reading.

He didn’t look up as I drove away. I checked, slyly, to see if he had.

After three years, contact had been made.