The Light Touch / The dating game
Blind dating is still in vogue, as evidenced by a phone call I received the other day from a man introducing himself as Dave.
"Do I know you?" I asked.
"No, but possibly yes," Dave said. "I'm a friend of Lisa. She thought we'd do well together, and that I should give you a call."
"Lisa who?" I asked. I knew several Lisa's, who could be up to their old tricks.
I searched my memory bank recalling that I once knew a Lisa at Time, but that was many years and lifetimes ago, and I couldn't place the face.
"So," Dave continued, "What do you think? Should we meet?"
"Sorry," I said. "But, I'm married, and anyway, I was never a fan of the blind date."
"Really?" Dave went on. "I've met some terrific women that way. It's still my favorite form of dating."
"That's nice," I said, "but obviously you still haven't met `Ms. Right.'"
"I've met many `Ms. Maybes,'" Dave said with bravado.
"None of whom obviously stuck," I pointed out.
"Oh, they stuck alright. Some stuck like glue. I couldn't get rid of them."
"But, not that one special woman you wanted to marry."
"That's true," Dave admitted. "You might say I'm a confirmed bachelor, but I keep an open mind."
"Have you ever been married?" I was becoming intrigued.
"Once, for 24-hours when I was in grad school, in a drunken stupor, I proposed to a woman. We tied the knot in Las Vegas and divorced the next day."
"So, I assume you have no children then," I tried introducing a modicum of humor.
"None that I know of," Dave said, not laughing.
"As I reiterated, I'm not available. You'll have to tell Lisa I'm sorry."
"I haven't seen Lisa for 30 years," he said. "I wouldn't have even called you except I found your number in a shirt pocket."
"It must have been a very old shirt," I said.
"You won't even meet me for a drink? A cup of coffee perhaps?"
"No, I'm unavailable. Don't you have more numbers you can try?'
"The well has run dry," Dave said. "I'm a desperate guy. I probably should have called you sooner, but you know how it gets. Time flies and several decades go by."
"Not to worry," I told him. "I wouldn't have gone out with you anyway. I've never had any success with blind dates. They're just too risky. Too, je ne sais quoi."
"Oh, you speak French," Dave said. "So do I. You see, we already have something in common."
"Not fluently," I said. "I don't mean to be rude, but it's time to end this conversation."
"That's too bad," Dave said. He sounded glum. "I was enjoying the banter. It's not every day I meet a woman with whom I can shoot the breeze. Do you happen to know any single women who might be interested in a podiatrist from Perth Amboy, New Jersey?"
"Is that where you're from?"
"Yes, why?" Dave asked defensively. "Are you prejudiced against men from New Jersey?"
"Of course not, but the only available women I know live in Connecticut."
"I'm willing to travel," he said. "And, if she needs a good foot massage, reflexology is my specialty."
The conversation was now plummeting into a place that was bordering on kinky and weird.
"Please don't ever call me again," I said, firmly. "My husband will be home any minute. He wouldn't be happy to find me cavorting on the phone."
"Just tell him, it's Dave -- an old friend -- and he'll understand."
"That's it," I said. "It's sayonara."
"You speak Japanese?" Dave asked. "I'm impressed. Maybe we can meet for sushi some time. Feel free to invite your hubby to come along."
"My husband doesn't do sushi," I said.
"What does your husband do?"
"He's a sumo wrestler and the chief of police," I lied. "He's out walking our pit bull, so if you know what's good for you, hang up now."
"With an attitude like that we never would have worked," Dave said.
Westporter Judith Marks-White