Take Me Out Tonight

I’m not a fan of dating. The idea of sitting across a table with a stranger and chit chatting about our jobs and families sounds torturous. Especially if the date is with a beer-bellied guy with a bad comb over who has proclaimed his interest in young women in mini-skirts but who has decided he might be able to settle for an old gal like me. My dear friend J. confirmed my dread of the process yesterday when she shared an exchange she had with a potential online suitor. He had contacted her and, after reviewing his profile, she sent a polite “Thanks but I don't think we're a match” response. She got a message back with nasty comments about her hygiene and girl parts. Good times.

I'm not anti-social. I frequently have long conversations with all sorts of characters on buses, in the grocery store, or at a bar or club. And I don't think I have a long list of unreasonable expectations for a partner. It's mostly just the dating thing that turns me off. Unfortunately, this lack of enthusiasm is at odds with being single, 40 and not wanting to be a spinster, librarian, cat-hoarder in my old age. When I was younger, it all happened pretty easily and organically. There were friends and friend of friends. Single men around my age were at bars and clubs, coffee shops and parties. They lived down the hall, next door and they sat next to me in class. Occasionally, a straight one might even work at the same place I did. Somehow, I just met potential boyfriends and, rather than dating, we moved in the same social scene, got to know each other, and started relationships. We didn't go out for coffee to see if there was any chemistry between us; I usually knew quite a bit about a guy before I found myself across a table from him.

It doesn’t work that way any more and I’m told that a more positive attitude about dating might help me avoid that spinster hoarding thing. In this positive spirit, I've been trying to purge my mind of the handful of truly awful and awkward date memories I have and focus on moments of excitement and butterflies.



I dated M. during my junior and part of senior years of high school. When I think of him, my first thought is that night I drank sloe gin straight from a bottle and threw my shoes at his car because he dumped me. But immediately AFTER that, I think of how happy and excited I was when we were dating. There was no dread, just anticipation. Anticipation was even part of the fun. The future seemed full of possibility. We went to see the Cult and Divinyls at the Royal Oak Music Theater (and Christina Amphlett? ... really weird). There were lots of movies and dinners in Greek Town. What was most fun though was just driving in his car, talking and listening to music.

I hadn’t been happy at home since my mom remarried when I was 12. At first it was okay, but as I became an admittedly obnoxious teenager, my step dad and I did not get along. I often heard about how irresponsible, abnormal and delinquent I was. There were long talks about my attitude and behavior. My step dad lectured, I sulked and scowled, my mom cried and felt like she was in the middle of two stubborn personalities.

But M. was a nice boy from a nice family. He had a safe, reliable car and came in to meet my parents. More important though, I liked him. We had fun together. I remember waiting in the bathroom, long after I had done my hair and makeup and gotten dressed, just so I could keep an eye on the driveway from the window and know the second he arrived. I also remember how great it felt to get home and find that everyone had gone to bed and the house was quiet. It was late and I was tired, but I wished the night had not ended and I looked forward to next time. Now I just need to find some sort of 40-year old version of that.