“Do I have to go?” I plaintively ask.
“Yes,” Colleen, my life coach, says. “You have to give him a chance.”
“Him” is “Don” — the last man on my six man plan with DCSingles.
My matchmaker, Kelly gives me a heads up.
“He didn’t go to college.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I like a man who works with his hands.”
“For politics he checked ‘other'”.
“‘Other’ indicates an open mind,” I opine.
“But just beware,” Kelly warns me. “He’s just a tad overly enthusiastic.”
“Okay, what the hey! I am game.”
Bring him on!
First phone call, Don describes in great detail his bout with the flu. So totally whoa is he, his world is just a nose blow away from coming to an end. Recovering in his recliner, he binge watches game shows in his basement.
(Hmmmm, not exactly intellectually curious, is he? But I do confess I have a Hulu binge habit myself.)
And so whiny. Why are men so whiny when they are sick? A doctor’s daughter, I have zero desire to play nursemaid to this guy.
Second phone call goes to message. I call him back. Not there to answer, his recording plays: Big Bad John possibly from an old eight track tape.
Sort of humorous, right?
Feeling better, his voice brighter, he asks me out to brunch. Maybe a walk in the city?
That’s better, right?
Okay. Sunday next. 2:00 PM, we will meet in the middle at the Eastern Market LPQ.
Saturday I text: “I’ll be wearing red glasses. And my hand is decorated! Will explain tomorrow.” Against the rules, I send him my red spectacled, right handed henna selfie — so he will recognize me.
“Such pretty red nails,” he texts back. “All the better to scratch my back” to which I have no response.
Unsolicited he sends me his: a framed photo of half a dozen clowns.
“Hysterical! Will you be the one with the red rubber nose?” I kid him, thinking this is a joke.
“Would you like me to wear my clown suit?
OMG, he is serious. This clown really is a real live clown!
“Uh, no,” I reply.
“Funny, right? I am funny, right?”
“Uh, no. Not funny,” I reply silently to myself.
Weird, but harmless. Right?
I guess I will still go. So I text simply: “See you at two at LPQ.”
But then it gets weirder still.
Out of the blue, a late night text: “Take a bubble bath. Have a glass of wine. Put on your PJ’s. Relax.”
I make an emergency call to my life coach, Colleen. She puts me on speaker phone along with housemate and assistant coach Katie.
“Hmmmm, yes, that does sound inappropriate,” the two concur. “But maybe just out of practice? You should give him the benefit of the doubt. It’s just brunch, right?”
“Okay, I’ll go.”
So today, up at sunrise, Sunday came. After a Holy Eucharist or two, I plopped myself down in the rector’s office: exhausted, hungry, and caffeine deprived. I was feeling nothing but dread for the date ahead.
Chuck, my colleague, listened to my litany of complaints: “He’s whiny. He’s goofy. A bit creepy. And quite literally, he’s a clown.”
“Hmmmm,” Chuck says. “Sounds like you don’t want to go.”
“NOOOOOOO, I don’t want to go.”
“Listen to your gut,” Chuck says.
“YES, my gut screams NO.”
Last Man on the Plan,
“I am canceling.
I can’t go out with you.”
And even if Don were the Last Man on the Plan(et), I still would not want to go.
I far prefer my own company and conversation, the comforts of my sacred space and the singular luxury of the time I call my own.
It’s really quite splendid, you see.
But I am still quite open to find just the right man who might like to share this with me.
So stay tuned to S&TSV! Maybe crowd sourcing next? We’ll see!
The Rev: Joani