Single Woman Gets Fixed Up

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A friend of mine introduced us. Well, that’s not entirely true, Sherry only mentioned him in an email and left it up to me. He was a good guy, she said, and why didn’t I give him a call?

So I wrote down his contact info on a yellow Post-it note, filing it away for sometime, someday, perhaps. At this moment, I was too gun-shy to initiate anything with anyone. In fact, the last time I’d tried to connect via a friend’s referral, it turned out horribly; I ended up wishing I hadn’t.

As a (mostly) single woman, I’ve learned it’s often prudent to just sit back and wait, treasuring an interlude before rushing heedlessly and hopefully into something new.

But a day arrived several months ago when, exhausted by going it alone, I thought, “Why not?” Truthfully, there were a lot of reasons why not, a few of them named Ted, Dave, Marcus and Joe, each of whom had let me down in various ways over the past few years. Yet on this crisp winter morning I convinced myself that bravery is a becoming attribute. Not so hard, really: hold breath, dial, listen to his voicemail three times, leave message, hang up, freak out.

Days later, when I’d almost put the call out of my mind, he left me a return message. After a few more nerve-racking exchanges, we agreed to meet in person. He offered to stop by Saturday morning, if that would work with my schedule. He was earning major bonus points already, sight unseen, just for assuming that I, too, had a busy life, something that never occurred to Ted, Dave, et al., who had shown up pretty much as they pleased. Our 9am get-together meant I’d have to be up early, but I was pleased with the idea, as if I was the person with whom he would most like to begin his day.

On Saturday I took great pains to look attractively casual—jeans, sneakers, soft red sweatshirt, tiny gold earrings. Should I stay inside with my coffee? No, better to look energetic and productive. I hoisted a rake and went to work on a few remaining leaves in my yard, listening intently for a car (truck? motorcycle?) coming down the gravel road.

I was shocked when he drove up exactly when he said he would, a feat so beyond the capabilities of Marcus, Ted and the others that I doubt it had once entered anyone’s head. He had an immaculate white pickup truck, muscular chest, and easy smile. I liked the way he took his time getting out, strolling purposefully up the walkway to greet me.

He was neither dashing nor breathtakingly handsome, just towheaded and tall with piercing blue eyes. Nice-looking. After so many lapses in judgment, I had wondered if I’d be able to spot the Real Thing if I ever found it. Could this be he?