I finally finished the A.B. Yehoshua novel I was reading, which freed me up to read the Meyer Levin novel I found at my favorite used bookstore in Jerusalem. Titled, The Spell of Time: a Tale of Love in Jerusalem, its subtitle was inspiring, if you know what I mean.
In other words, I was hoping this tale of love in Jerusalem would rub off on me.
Beyond that, Meyer Levin was a Chicagoan, or, as Augie March would say, he was an “American, Chicago born.” Me, too! Or rather, I am an American, Waukegan, Illinois, born. But why split hairs?
Forty-eight hours into my dating sabbatical. Or is it more? I’ve never been very good with numbers.
With no romantic possibilities lined up, there is nothing for me to do but look backwards. And with the movie of my romantic life playing in an endless loop before me, I have a chance to review all of my past likes and loves, mess-ups and near misses.
What went wrong? I ask myself. What can I do better?
Or more specifically, have I made a career out of rejecting men?
I mean, people! Are you aware of just how many folks there are walking around with stink emanating from their mouths like fire from a dragon? Ick Dot Com! It’s enough to make me want to wear one of those masks people in Asia sport when they have a cold. Only mine would be a stink-deflector mask. Has anyone invented this yet?
As I was saying, I was relaying to some friends a very scholarly story of how another friend works with an anorexic woman whose breath, she reported back to me, smells just awful on account of the fact that she never eats.
“And she’s married, too!” I told the ladies present, both married themselves. “I mean, doesn’t her husband say to her, ‘Damn, woman! You’ve got some stanky breath!”
“But married people don’t kiss,” said one, rather too matter of factly for my taste.
"I AM LOOKING FOR YOU," began the note the faceless guy on Jdate sent me.
The rest of his message sounded eerily familiar.
"WOMEN and not a GIRL, yet also playful and with a young spirit. Someone with integrity and a sense of who he is. Someone who is a citizen of the world. Someone who makes me laugh. Someone who doesn’t hate my dog. Someone interesting. Unless I’m looking for the wrong things? You tell me. Surprise me."
In other words, this gentleman had copied and pasted the "what I'm looking for" from my own profile on another dating site and sent it back to me as his words on Jdate. The only thing he changed (in the first sentence) was the male to female form.
It’s lunchtime and all the ladies on my floor have scrunched into one room, digging into salads, which doesn’t mean we won’t be pouncing on the apple cake someone has so thoughtlessly brought in and put enticingly on the table.
We will. If only because we don’t want to hurt her feelings.
As the room fills with chatter, I’m somewhere else.
A certain someone is coming over for dinner and I have no idea what to make.