Note to all dates- memorize your profile before going on a date...(Do I smell sardines?)

I’m in a very, very good place.

And, because of that, I am having a great time accepting offers to meet new people. 

And also, because I’m a lifelong learner, I am learning more and more about human nature and people in general.  (i.e., women aren’t the only ones who are stupid.)

I replied to an email from someone on Plenty of Sardines.  I was hopeful, because not only did this particular gentleman, JOE,  live in Smythe, OREGON, but he was close to my age (a year YOUNGER), attractive, and had a pretty impressive resume.

We spoke several times on the telephone, and granted I couldn’t get a word in edgewise,  but at least he was interesting to listen to and had some fascinating stories to tell.

I agreed to go with Joe for a drink, and also accepted his offer to pick me up.  (I know, I know….)  

It was after 9, and dark when he pulled up, and even under the cloak of darkness I could see that he was driving a white Cadillac.  He sat in the seat and gestured for me to get in. 

Strike One.

I opened the door and bent down to greet Joe.  I almost fell over when I realized that he was at LEAST 10 or 15 years older than the picture he had on his profile.  

Strike Two.

I wanted to say, “Are you Joe’s DAD?”, but I smiled and said “Hi!”  and then looked at the front passenger seat.  While the seat was clean, the floor upon which I was supposed to place my feet was littered with fast food napkins, unopened mail, and a few unopened, flat brown bags.

Strike Three.

Against my better judgment, and because apparently I can't COUNT, I hopped in and went three blocks to the local watering hole and had a cocktail with Joe’s Dad.  About 30 minutes later I  asked to be taken home.

“It’s been such a long day, and I am completely exhausted.” I said.

He drove me home pushing the gas and hitting the brakes simultaneously, which only solidified my vow of NEVER allowing anyone else to pick me up at the house again.

Before I got out of the car he said, “I hope we can see each other again!  But you are probably looking for someone your age, or younger than you.  Right?”

I looked at him.   “Well, JOE, I thought you WERE younger than me?”

His eyes widened.   “Um….oh Yeah!  That’s right!  I’m, uh, I’m 52!”

Strike ONE HUNDRED.

I thanked him, opened the car door (myself) and ran to my house.   Then after securing the locks and fixing another cocktail, I reminded myself that it only takes THREE strikes to make an out.

Silly, silly me.