I was 31 years old, my divorce was freshly final and I was still wearing my pretties. I was good to go.

During the day I played full time, stay-at-home Mommy to two small children. I did it well, although a bit selfishly. I liked to hang out on the web, even back then.

By night, I was Internet Dater Extraordinaire. Queen of First Dates. I made a career out of it. I had that first date conversation down to a science.

I think I may have dated everyone on J-Date that there was to date back then. And boy, were there some winners. It’s a wonder that anyone married some of these guys a first time around.

I had a personal ad posted on J-Date with a somewhat fuzzy looking picture that was taken on my European Honeymoon cruise. All that was truly in focus was my mop of curly hair. But it did the job. I received tons of responses. I didn’t have to answer any personals until much later in my dating career. And I ended up marrying that one. Anywhoo…

A transplant from California who was living a couple of towns over answered my personal. I liked what his profile said and I found his email to me to be interesting and amusing. So, I sent him my phone number. Why not, right? I had already dated everyone else. Time for some new blood.

We spoke on the phone for weeks. Conversations building in frequency and duration. We were really getting to know each other. But life circumstances prevented us from actually meeting until 6 or 8 weeks into our blossoming and intense phone relationship.

We finally made plans that were actually going to work for both of us.

We chose a place that both of us were familiar with and liked. He kept kosher so we had to meet somewhere that was conducive to that particular lifestyle. One which I didn’t follow due to being raised as a reform Jew.

I was excited and nervous. I was perhaps holding this date to too high of an expectation. I probably should have known better, considering all the duds…not DUDES…that were floating around, single (and some for very obvious reasons), on the internet that I had encountered on my dating exploits.

I had my free sitter (the ex) come over to hang out with my kids. Actually, he used to see them a lot, almost every night, which I took tremendous advantage of. Hi. Have fun. Bye.

I arrived at Hogans Restaurant. He had gotten there first so the hostess led me to the table where he was waiting.

I think my face fell. It must of been…it HAD to have been obvious.

He looked like a Jewish Tony Soprano. And I don’t find that look very attractive. I kept expecting him to talk all mafia-like in a New Jersey twang.

But he was super nice so I tried, really hard, to work with that.

Dinner was fine. Conversation was not as good as it had been when it wasn’t face to face. Disappointment sat in the pit of my stomach.

It was going to be an early night. He had to be somewhere. And I was absolutely perfectly fine with that. This was going to be a first and last.

About an hour later, he paid the bill and he walked me to my car. I used the remote to unlock it and he opened the door for me to get in behind the wheel.

He looked at me strangely. He grabbed my hand. He mentioned something to the effect that, he can see the future so let’s just skip all this dating bullshit and get married.

I think I may have snorted snot out at him. I was shocked and, well, appalled.

“Are you serious?” I tried not to laugh. I mean, seriously? How can this possibly be for real. Didn’t he see my face fall when I sat down?

“Dead.” He responded. “I knew on the first date with my ex-wife that I was going to marry her. And we eloped after 6 weeks.”

“Yeah. And look where that got you!” I said, incredulously.

“So what do you say?” He asked.

“Um. Really? No. Thank you.” I replied. He was still holding my hand and I had been too shocked to shake it away.

I finally pulled my hand away from his, I mumbled goodbye, threw my car into reverse and drove off.

He called me for days. Finally, after so many times of making truthful excuses, I just stopped answering the phone when his number showed up on the caller ID.

He finally gave up on me and I never heard from him again.

When I think about this, it always leaves me wondering WTF is wrong with people?

Once upon a time there was a woman.
There was this woman who had a baby.
A baby who was 13 years old…well, he’ll be 13 on Sunday.
This almost 13 year old boy, looked up from his computer over to his Mother who was on her computer and said…as they were both sitting at the kitchen table…one wrapped up in conversation on Facebook. The other trying to think of something to write on her blog, while Twittering and hopping.
“When am I allowed to date? Because, I kind of like this one girl. But not as much as she likes me, I don’t think. But…when?”
And this woman. She looked at her son.
Who isn’t a baby anymore.
Not…even close to being a baby anymore.
And she said…
“You want to ask a girl out? A girl? Really?”
And the Mother, whose son wanted to know when it would be OK to ask a girl out, had to hold herself back from either crying or laughing…she couldn’t tell exactly what emotion was wanting to spill forth.
And the Mother took another good hard look at her son.
And she realized…
it’s no use.
He isn’t a baby anymore.
He’ll never be a baby anymore.
But…
if he is really serious about asking this cute little girl out…
he should strongly consider letting his Mother take him for a shave and a haircut.
Because his hair is moppy and dirty looking.
And he has a caterpillar crawling across his upper lip that needs to be exterminated.
And then…while he’s getting that shave and a haircut…
She should strongly consider getting that umbilical cord cut.
Because it’s time.

Dinosaur book here