All In The Family
You certainly don’t mess around, do you? I think this new approach of yours is going to work – or blow up in your face.
First off, what sixty-four year-old man gives his age as “sixty-four and a half?” Dude. Really? You’re way too smart to do that. What did you think, that if you said sixty-four and a half instead of sixty-five, you’d sound a lot younger? That if you’re six months short of Medicare instead of carrying the card, she’ll bang your brains out? You’re a little old to be disclosing your age in an indirect manner, Pal. She’s a smart girl. She’ll decide for herself if your age makes a difference – which it will -even with a private jet added to the equation.
BTW, when a man (or woman) is described as “not batting a thousand in the looks department,” it means they are downright homely. Hell, unless someone is described as a cross between Clooney and Pitt, expect Quasimodo. This way, you won’t be disappointed. Consider it the pessimist’s creed – or the smart, single person’s.
So now what do you do? Not about the father vs. son equation. If ever there was a situation from which you should run, not walk, you have found it. I’m talking about the arena you have just entered, the arena of recruiting our friends to help us meet potential mates. We’re always told about people who are “different,” or “quirky,” or owners of “a great personality.”
I respect what you’re trying to do, but you have to keep your expectations – and your panties, in check. “Anything goes,” is one thing, but “anything goes,” is something entirely different. I trust you know this. I trust you know that when you open the door this wide, it becomes like Noah’s Ark… Two of anything may walk in the door.
Maybe I’m not the right person to comment on this. Since I was old enough to realize girls were different from boys, I’ve been adamantly opposed to recommendations. Jobs? Yes. Girls/women? No thanks. The only gender more wrong when it comes to recommending potential mates than women is men – by a country mile. “Dude, she’s so hot,” immediately becomes “How many beers did you have when you met her?” “She’s really sexy,” quickly morphs into her cleavage entering the restaurant five minutes before she does. “I did her – it was awesome?” Uh, no thanks.
Field of Dreams? Try field of land mines.
But keep me posted, just the same.
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If You Build It…
One of my all time favorite movies has always been Field of Dreams. I know it sounds corny, but when Shoeless Joe Jackson appeared on that baseball field, my life became an “If you build it, he will come” kind of life.
Well, “he” hasn’t come yet, but the “if you build it” part is starting to take effect – as in, my recent letter to my friends. (See previous post.) First up, my lawyer (okay – that just sounded so Hollywood of me): “I think I have someone for you. He might be too old for you and he’s not batting a thousand in the looks department, but he’s smart and funny and his personality reminds me of you. I think you would hit it off. Can he call you tonight?” Well, since this is my year of anything goes, I said, “Sure, why not?”
Next up, my friend from high school: “There’s this friend of my fiancé’s – he’s not really your type so I’ve never thought about fixing you up, but maybe…Why don’t you have lunch with him tomorrow?” Well, since this is my year of anything goes, I said, “Sure, why not?”
The phone call (lawyer set-up) came in late that night. And much to my surprise, I really enjoyed it. All NINETY minutes of it. The man was definitely my cup of tea – hilariously funny, brilliantly smart, just the right amount of cocky – hmm, this year was getting off to a good start. Then…
“I think you’re fantastic,” he said, “But I think I’m too old for you,”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Sixty four and a half.”
Oh shit.
“So if you’re looking for the fairy tale, I’m definitely not your guy,” he said, “But if you’re looking for a good time, I’ll send my jet and we’ll be on our way.” For about 3 seconds I thought, maybe I don’t need the fairy tale, I just need a guy who says, “I’ll send my jet and we’ll be on our way.” Okay, for about half a second I thought that and for the other 2 ½, I thought, he’s almost as old as my dad. But then…
“Do you have a son?” I asked. Well, as luck would have it he did have a son. “He’s too young for you,” he said, “And I don’t think he’s your type.” Wait — was he actually cock-blocking his own son? So as he told me a little more about his son, a light bulb went off in my head. “What’s your son’s name again?” I asked.
Yep, you guessed it. Or maybe you didn’t. His son? My lunch date for the next day.
If you build it, he will come.
Or, maybe his son will.
