The Date That Launched a Blog...

Otherwise known as mmmm mmmm mm mmm mmmmmmmm!

Ok... I have been experimenting with Match.com for the past few months (few years, really, off and on).  The difference this time around is that I am at a REALLY content place in my life.  I love my profession, I have a great relationship with my entire family, and the biological clock that let me know loud and clear where it was each and every moment of my early 30s has silenced.  Not that I wouldn't love to have children-- I would-- but I am at peace with singlehood.  I consider my students, my kids, and I have 470 of them.  That's enough! 

This is what makes being on Match.com so interesting!  I'm no longer looking for The One (although if he materialized I would be most happy to meet him and spend the rest of my days in marital bliss), because I have found this wonderful peace that had been... truthfully, lacking.

So, when someone winks at me, as long as he doesn't look like a crazed lunatic with a lone self-portrait of himself in taken in a scary bathroom mirror, I'll usually respond.  On this particular Sunday, the gentleman, I'll call him Jake, sent me a wink and while he didn't yet have a picture of himself, he had a REALLY great profile.  I liked his description, and I liked his voice, and I took a chance. 

I winked back.

I should also say that he lives in my town.  WOW!  No half-hour hike up the turnpike, or hour trek up the 417... a local guy.  Oh, the possibilities!

I love my hometown.  But honestly, I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!!!  (But me, being the idealistic woman that I am... didn't.)

We emailed back and forth, which turned into texting, which turned into a date the very next night at a local restaurant right on the water.  Lovely.  

He texted me the next afternoon and told me that he had a bunch of rebar (I'm not sure if that's the correct spelling but it seems right) in the back of his truck so he needed to park in the next lot over from the restaurant.  No problem, I said.  I'll meet you there.  

Look for my big white truck.  You can't miss it.

So, I got ready, wearing a cute pair of Bermuda shorts and my favorite blouse from the Loft.  It's aqua, sleeveless, and has a really funky neckline.  I LOVE it.  I put my good-smelling perfume on and I was on my way.

I saw the big, white truck with the rebar sticking out of it.  I parked a couple spaces over, to give us a bit of room.  Then the truck door opened.

First came the boots.  Very old, dirty cowboy boots.  

Then came the jeans.  Not too bad.

Then the old, faded, beat-up untucked t-shirt.  I knew I was in trouble.

The cherry on top was the baseball cap.  It was orange.  It was ratty, and stained, and the kind of hat that men wear on fishing trips when they are all trying to out-do each other in the how-bad-can-I-make-myself-smell department.  I want to say that it had the name of a company on it, like Oreo.  It definitely didn't belong to a sports team, but I have a mental block when it comes to the name, despite the fact that I spent much of the date staring at it, not quite believing I was in a a restaurant, on a date, with a man wearing a baseball cap.

Perhaps now I should mention that I'm maybe a little bit of a snob?  Just a little bit?  In my defense, I was raised in an environment that men most definitely did NOT wear caps in restaurants, church, etc.  Absolutely not.  But here I was.

He looked me up and down and I'm not kidding, said, Mmmmmmm. Mmmm. Mmmm.  Mm. Mmmm!

It's nice to know that he found me attractive, really.  It's always nice to be found attractive.  But aren't there better ways?!  I'm not a gorgeous piece of grilled steak! 

So, we went to the restaurant.  (The cap stayed on.  Maybe he was self-conscious of his hairline?  Seriously?  Bald is sexy!  Nasty caps are not!!!)

He ordered crab legs, I think.  I ordered soft-shell crab for the first time in my life.  It was delicious.  We were seated in a corner, half-booth sort of high-top.  There weren't any other customers seated directly near us.  It was just Jake and me.  To his credit, he gave me the seat that looked out the window, and out to the restaurant, which is out of character for me.  I usually like to sit facing the wall, because I know so many people in my town, and I find it hard to concentrate on the person I'm with.  We chatted.  I asked him how he got into his line of work and he said, "Boobs."  Honest to goodness.  He actually said BOOBS!  Jake builds pools, but started out as a pool cleaner, and he got into it because his friends told him that he could lay his eyes on some big European knockers.  Really.

He tells me this on a first date.  Where do you go from there?  

He also came to my side of the table to show me pictures of him and his daughter hunting.  It was sweet. But again, I totally felt like I was in the Twilight Zone.  He would periodically look at me and make the mmm mmmm sounds again.  I wanted to crawl under the table and die.

How did I get here?

So, long story short, after we concluded dinner, we took a little walk-- the lakefront in my town is good for that, and then he walked me back to my car.  We did the customary first-date, not-too-long hug.  I thanked him for dinner.  I got in my car and went home.

A short while later he texted me and told me that he hoped I had a nice time.  I wrote back that I did, but I didn't feel what I felt I should feel. 

He said he hoped I found what I was looking for.  Jake really is a nice guy, and I told him so in my last text to him.  I'm just not country enough-- I'm sure that even though he liked my appearance, sooner or later I would have driven him crazy.

I'm too old to try to be something I'm not.  I am not a country girl.  Never have been, never will be.  I do enjoy the outdoors, very much.  But not mudding, or hunting, or cow-tipping... or anything redneck-ish.  Except Jeff Foxworthy.  He IS funny... but I know that I am not a redneck and could never be with one.  We're just too different.


I have retold this story to many of my friends... and it is the date that launched this blog. I hope that readers find it at least somewhat amusing.  In the immortal words of Jay-Z.... My pain is your entertainment.