A Woman’s Right To Choose
Your dating bonanza sounds a lot like the early stages of a divorce. You’re looking at a full, diverse menu, but you can’t decide what you want to order so you’re inevitably left hungry at the end of the meal. I remember one of my first nights out after my divorce was final. A friend and I went to a restaurant/night club. The place was crawling with women. And I was like a no-pest strip at a southern barbecue; the women were buzzing all around me.
First I ran into a woman I knew from our kid’s little league baseball team. She was pretty hot – a true MILF – but she always wore heels and makeup to the baseball games and that simply didn’t work for me. Her friends were drunk and kept trying to maneuver us into some sort of encounter. Deciding to cut to the chase, I walked up to her at the bar and started making out with her. She responded eagerly. When we were done, I turned to her group of friends, asked “Are you happy now?” and walked off. When she left a short time later she slipped me her number on the way out. I never called her.
After that, a woman I’d never met asked me to dance. She was pretty hot too, but was wearing a wedding ring. After we danced to a few songs, the band played a slow one. She pulled me to her like a magnet and shoved her tongue down my throat. It was tempting, but it was also early. Plus, I didn’t want to take advantage of some horny, unhappily married woman who might stab me while imagining it was her husband. I played it safe and slipped away with my friend. A half hour later, I saw her with her tongue down another guy’s throat.
Toward the end of the night, I ran into another woman I knew from the neighborhood. We danced a few dances and closed the place. She looked good on the dance floor and seemed like she might be fun off of it, so I asked her to dinner. I knew it was going nowhere by the time the appetizer arrived. I haven’t seen her since.
They say that finding love is like finding a needle in a haystack. They’re wrong. It’s not that easy. That’s why you don’t have to choose until you’re ready. That’s why you can indeed try them all on for size (well, maybe not literally for size) if you prefer. That’s why the only voice you should heed when deciding what to do and with how many men to do it is your own. As far as I’m concerned, you have a right to stand on top of that dinner table and collect resumes from these guys if you want. First of all, they’d do the exact same thing if they could. Second of all, and more importantly, you’re not going to choose whether or not to try them all because you can or can’t; you’re going to choose whether or not to try them all because you want, or don’t want to.
It’s all about choice – the choice is yours – and yours alone. I know you’ll make the right one.
As in – one.
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Pick A Card, Any Card
I had a date with four men last night. No, this wasn’t part of my current dating bonanza, this was actually closer to a business dinner, but it ended up being me, and four men, with three out of the four blatantly pursuing me. (The fourth was married and if he was pursuing me, I didn’t notice because he was married – enough said.) While flattering that all these men were paying me attention, it simply boiled down to the odds, and how the cards were dealt. I was the only female. Total ego boost, right? Wrong. For some reason, it made me a little sad. What am I doing?
All around me, my friend’s marriages are falling apart. Three, count ‘em, three, are getting divorced. They are now in my boat: almost 40 and single. But now they have kids along for the ride. Not an easy ride. So what am I doing? Which leads me to my real question: Can’t I just keep them all?
Out of my current dating bonanza, I like three of them. I know this can’t last forever, I know eventually I have to pick, but I definitely like my top three. There’s the Silver Fox, who is the oldest but has a smile that knocks my socks off and calves that could chip a tooth. There’s the Million Dollar Man, who has dreamy blue eyes and a dog that I just want to sneak into my car and take home. And there’s Salt and Pepper, whose dimples make me melt, and from what I can tell, a small child living in his pants. Plus, the Young Stud and a possible do-over from the distant past are still out there somewhere, and I’m still hoping they’ll call too.
Dates three through five are rapidly approaching with my top three, which no doubt means some sort of clothing removal is going to be expected. So I guess I have to pick sooner than later, because contrary to popular belief, it isn’t my goal in life to be a whore. But seriously, why should I have to pick? Why does society say I have to pick?
I know what you’re thinking. That if I don’t pick, I’m that whore I was just speaking of. Except wait – don’t men do this all the time? Why is it so important for a woman my age to not only be mated, but mated with one man and one man only? Because society says so. Because my grandmother said so. Because my brain says so, and has been saying so twice a week in this blog for six months now.
I looked around the table at the men last night. There was the sixty-year old with the puppy dog eyes who knew he didn’t have a shot with me. There was the steroid superstar, who thought he might have a shot with me because he’s on TV, but deep down probably knew he didn’t have a shot. There was the six-foot-five black guy who thought he might have a shot because I’m a nice white girl whose fantasy might be to have a big black guy once, but deep down he knew he didn’t have a shot, no matter how many times he said, “You like the dark chocolate, don’t you?” Probably the only one who did have a shot was the married guy, because he didn’t try. Go figure.
My top three DO have a shot. All of them do, in fact. So which one do I pick? And, do I have to?
