Pick A Card, Any Card
February 5th, 2010I 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?
