Within 48 hours the first viable flirtation came in. He was about my age, attractive, similar career path but, having a penis of his own, still gainfully employed in the business world. It seemed right. I was optimistic. After the exchange of several e-mails we agreed to meet for a date. I was nervous. It had been so long since I had been on an actual dinner date that I wasn’t sure how to act. I’m a 48 year old woman and it was necessary for a girlfriend to come over to help me pick out what to wear. A couple of hours passed modeling possible outfits and working on hair and makeup. I was beside myself. My girlfriend suggested a drink but I decided it would be wrong to be drunk at the beginning of my date. I considered taking a valium but decided that could end badly as the evening progressed.
I decided that a smart cocktail upon arrival at the restaurant would ease my nerves enough and if it was really that bad, I would just skip dinner and come home. My makeup was perfect; my hair looked good. I waited for Mr. Handsome to pick me up for dinner.
So now comes my first lesson learned. Men do not always represent themselves in an honest fashion, even when it’s done anonymously. While I did sort of recognized him when he arrived, the picture was old, very old. An entirely different person came to pick me up. He was older, grayer and heavier. Amazingly he seemed completely unaware of it. He chatted easily about the wonders of himself and even made reference – although I still can’t figure out how he worked it into the conversation – to his small ass. His ass, by the way, was roughly the size of Iowa. As if that weren’t enough, he was rude to the wait staff. It was the longest dinner on record. I somehow think the feeling was mutual. I never heard from him again.