"...I Just Can't Do This..."

Those of you who follow me here on a regular basis will come to the conclusion that I have great big balls....that is, I am fearless when it comes to putting myself out there for the women in the world. I realized in my youth (probably because of the reinforcement that happens during that time in our lives) that I was not the most attractive man. I'm certainly not repulsive, but I learned to depend on other developing skills to appeal to others. Conversation. Attitude. Humor. Respect. And to this day, those are my bywords in life. Occasionally, however, I get reminded....

I have experienced my share of dating services. Some worked, some didn't. I had the best luck on a telephone dating service (we'll keep its name quiet) I first contacted about five years ago. My ability to use the English language has always been a saving grace for me. Now on this service, you create a profile of yourself and retain a voicemail number...when someone is interested, you will receive notice of a message in your voicemail box. Okay. I do have lots of stories about this particular service, which I'll share another time....some very erotic....some simple....nearly all of them ultimately going by the wayside. Now this one time.....

Her name was Anne. She was smart and funny. Nice, deep, sexy voice. She found my profile "intriguing"...her word. So I called back and we talked one evening for nearly three hours. Every subject imaginable came up between us, and it was a gratifying call. Eventually, we traded pictures. Mine was my professional headshot; hers was a lovely photo of walking at a local botanical garden. After we got to know each other, talking back and forth for a week or so, I got her to meet me at a restaurant halfway between where she lived and where I live. I got there about ten minutes before Anne, so I sat and waited. Picked up a paper that was nearby.

Then she walked in. Gorgeous, impeccably dressed. My height in her heels. I stood up and offered my hand to her: "Hi...Anne?"

She impulsively reached out and grabbed my hand. As she looked at me....well....it was like one of those moments in school that you remember when you got into trouble with the teacher, so you slinked yourself downward, so as not to feel so bad. "....YOU'RE....." Her grip on my hand became ever so loose....and slimy...."...RON???" I could tell immediately she was not pleased.

We were taken to a table. I pulled her chair out for her to sit down. She didn't even take her coat off as she sat. I tried to engage her in brief discourse, but she wouldn't. She couldn't even look at me...her eyes were down to the table in embarrassment....The waiter arrived with menus and was a real gentleman...."Good evening, folks...May I start you with a drink?" I looked at her. "Anne...?"

For the first time, Anne picked her head up. Looked around, like she didn't want to get caught at something. Looked at the waiter. Finally looked at me, her mouth gaping in wordless wonder.

"I'm sorry......I just can't do this...." And she got up and walked out of the restaurant.

In my own hurt and embarrassment, I looked at the waiter for some kind of guidance. Thank God, he had a good presence of mind. "First date?" "Yes. And apparently the last one..."

"Man, that's tough....Sorry....Sir, lemme buy you a drink."

I got a Scotch on the rocks and sat there. Obviously Anne never got back in contact with me, and that's just as well. But it shows that you can be the most perceptive, intuitive person alive (as I feel I have some of that in me) and still not know the whole story.

Now that was extreme, I'll admit. But this is why one should be prepared for anything in the dating world, especially these days. The vast majority of us seem ill-prepared to view life in any way past our own backyard, our own noses, viewpoints. And now you have an example of why I tout being totally open as the only way to go in life; this story wasn't about sex at all. I don't care HOW uncomfortable you are...at least offer the respect of following through, since you both entered the arena on the same footing. Because even though intellectually I know that little episode was not about me, but about Anne and her own expectations....

...to this day, nearly five years later, it still hurts.