The Quest (7 page)

              He talked and talked for over an hour straight without taking much of a breath. When the second hour rolled around, I excused myself and went to the bathroom. If I could have snuck out the bathroom window I would have. Only there wasn’t one. I dragged my feet as long as I could and washed my hands a dozen times singing every hand washing song I knew. I was trying to come up with an excuse to leave but I didn’t want to be rude. I just couldn’t hear another one of his stories about his buddies and the wild times they had, nor about his neighbors barking dogs, and don’t get me started about the mole on his back that he insisted on taking his shirt off to show me. He wanted to know if I thought it looked oddly shaped or discolored. How would I know? I’m not a doctor! It seemed to have an eye and I could have sworn it winked at me!

              Now the people watching that he did really put me over the top though. I don’t do that. Ever. I don’t sit back and watch the world criticizing every little thing about the people around me. That really got on my nerves quick. I found myself correcting him, telling him to “be nice” or “don’t say that.” When the last Lady shot her eyes our direction, I just knew she had heard every word he had said about her. I felt awful for her. He didn’t know how to be kind, just mean and critical. I was to the point of being embarrassed to be seen with him. I had wished we had ended our coffee date two hours ago. I arrived back at the table with red hands and a plastered smile. I sat down adjusting myself in my chair as if there was some way I could make my stay more comfortable. My mind swarmed with different scenarios of a proper exit. Thought seriously about starting a fire but I was not good at being an arsonist.

              Just as I had given up hope his phone rang and he answered it, thankfully leaving me a way out. I sang praises to ma bell for inventing the phone! I stood to my feet, grabbing my trash to discard, and pulled my purse upon my shoulder. I mouthed the words, “Nice meeting you,” while I backed out the door. “I’ll message you,” I whispered as it shut behind me. I hurriedly made it to my car, crammed the key in the ignition, and backed out of there quickly. I didn’t want to give him a chance to come running out to catch me in the parking lot to converse with me more. I just knew I’d get stuck for another grueling two hours of his mean puns at unsuspecting folks and his winking grossly back mole with a single black hair rising out of it. I was even more happy I didn’t walk over and opted to drive. What if he saw where I lived? I’ve learned to play it safe when I meet men.

              When I drove out of sight of the coffee shop, I pulled over. I stared in a daze at the road ahead of me with my eyes glaring across the hood of my car. My hands on the wheel, ten and two. As soon as I felt it was safe with no sign of him following, my forehead rested on the steering wheel. I let out a big sigh surprising myself. “I really suck at this,” I said in an effort to cheer up myself as if it was okay to suck at it. I began to reason with myself that I wasn’t that bad of a date. I patted myself on the back a few times telling myself I was a prize. But I wasn’t okay and the date was a disaster! How did I know this guy would have a diarrhea mouth? How could I have not seen his meanness before? He seemed so nice and sweet buying my coffee the first day I met him. But then you let him out of his cage and he’s so critical! “I dunno.” I watched the cars wiz by me thinking there has to be someone out there that didn’t make me want to run, hide, or start a fire! But where was he? Where is the guy that will pick me up in his strong arms and carry me away? I needed a man that would step up to the plate and be everything I had ever dreamed of. He would rescue me from the hole I had dug myself in. The pity-pen. That’s where I was. I was lying within the self–pity-pen that was dug deep within my heart. It kept reminding me I wasn’t worthy of the type of man I longed for. It whispered within my ears that I would never find him.

              I sighed as I pulled back onto the street. Maybe the whispers were right. Maybe I wasn’t worthy of all of I dreamt about. Maybe all I was worth was another disappointment. “Just another,” I agreed. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been down this path of disappoints before but I needed to escape the madness of dating and have someone solid in my life for a while. I needed someone that would make me feel secure enough to take them back home to meet momma, you know.

              I am no good for anyone when I’m down on myself. I’m a sappy tearful cry-me-a-river-put-a-sad-song-on-the-record-player kind of woman that has to deal with her pain all alone. Today called for one of those days and I just wasn’t prepared for it. I tried to ignore it at first by eating a bowl of ice cream which was a sweet treat but that caused me to want something salty so I grabbed a bag of chips. The chips made me hungry for something spicy which led me to call in an order of hot wings. I trotted down the stairs and across the street still half made up from the date I had earlier with makeup smudges under my eyes now and streaks of tears upon my cheeks. But I didn’t care. I was on a mission to eat my woes away. I was so eager to get back home I almost snatched my to-go order right out of the waitresses hands. I walked hurriedly back to my apartment pulling fries out of the bag two by two licking the salt off my fingers. I couldn’t shuffle them in my mouth fast enough. When I arrived home I dumped what was left of the fries onto a plate and added the boneless hot wings to the pile. I squeezed the blue cheese packet over them and made some comment to my empty apartment about how it makes no sense to serve such good wings without some homemade blue cheese dressing, not packet dressing. “They should be ashamed!” The boneless wings disappeared as if they cared. The fries were gone too and I searched the bag for any that were left behind. Amazingly I was still hungry with my lips on fire from the hot sauce and a salty tongue. 

              I opened the fridge to look for another unsuspecting thing I could devour. There sitting on a shelf was a half-eaten pie leftover from the coffee date. “That’s right! I forgot I brought that home with me.” I was reminded that it wasn’t even mine it was Mr. Diarrhea Mouth’s chocolate cream pie that he had packaged up to go. In my midst of scurrying out of there, I had picked it up by mistake. I smiled a wicked smile as I licked the spoon. Then for good measure, I licked the remnants off the packaging. “Whose crying now huh?”

              It seemed I stayed disappointed and longing for something in my life for hours, days, maybe weeks, months more than likely. I was afraid to keep track of the timeline in fear I’d go crazy or desperate. I knew I wanted a man, but not just any man. I wasn’t willing to settle. I knew my worth, I knew what I wanted, and surely he was out there somewhere wanting the same things too. But where? Huntsville was getting scarce. I had already been through all the dating databases many times over, with men within one hundred miles. And on every site, it’s the same ole men. So I decided to try something different. I decided to take off my picture and see if the guys would read my profile. Up the ante they say. Surely if I made it a little more difficult, the ones without pics might come forward too. Not that I hadn’t reached out to a few of those, but they seemed to be writers which in return would naturally be readers. But when I did, my profile became almost desolate. No action. None. Nadda. Zip. Zilch. Just as I had thought. These guys that corresponded before were just scoping for some action. A hookup no doubt. Most all of them sent me messages that were just one liners no real dialog. How can you have one line conversations? It was ridiculous. For example, it would sound something like this:

              “Got any pics?”

              So I replied with a “Hi.” Thinking the guy should have greeted me first if he was a gentleman.

              “Hay,” yeah, he couldn’t spell hey and he followed it up with a phone number adding, “text me.”

              Seriously? Dude if you would have read my profile you would have seen I wasn't looking for a hookup. Read the damn profile. Of course, I ignored him, but his one line emails would keep coming.

              “Can you post a pic?” Followed by another, “I really like football.” And he tags me with the pet name “mysterious lady.” My profile gave you more information about me than you would find if you had met me in person. It revealed all my likes, dislikes, goals, ambitions, work, passions, plus everything I was looking for in a man. You can’t call it a mystery. I even described myself to a science. There just wasn’t a picture. Yeah, I know guys are visual so are we, but you have to read it. It was a requirement I had in order to ask me out. I even joked with some that there would be a quiz just to see if they had read it.

              This guy was getting on my damn nerves! He had me yelling at his emails, “Just because you read the first line in my ‘about me
’
section you have to mention that you like football. That does not make me go, Yay! He likes football! He’s the perfect guy for me! Yay!
”
Really? I haven’t met a man yet that didn’t like football or some kind of sport. Get a clue and learn how to read. My personality required paragraphs. I require depth and substance. I need to be able to relate, not like the talker mind you, but meaningful mutual conversation. I want a guy that let me talk too. Not that I had very important stuff to say, but I needed to be heard every once in a while. You know, so I’d know I was alive and breathing.

              Another guy started off really good then quickly went to a one line conversation too. Too bad too. I was hooked when he said my profile was awesome and when he asked about my workouts I thought this guy had actually read it. He had a sweet build, one of six foot four, edge over edge muscles and a nice rounded smile. The only issue I had, was one of his pictures looked like he could be Radley’s twin. Ugh! I don’t want another Radley or anyone that resembles him. I felt it was bad ju-ju, right from the start. Not that I believe in that but I was not ruling it out either. I kept chatting with him knowing I would never meet him in person. As it turned out, he quickly became one with no depth and no substance too so I was off the hook. Give me dialog Radley-Dude look alike! Give me something that would make me want to meet you in person. Tell me something about you other than what you like to eat in those emails. I really liked that you take care of yourself, loved that actually, but your profile says nothing about you that stands out from the rest. What can you tell me that would make me want to say, “I’d like to meet you in person.” and “How about we grab a drink tonight?”

              I think I have found my new profession; profile writing. I could teach these guys a thing or two about how to capture a woman's heart. I could host a writing class in a local bar, set up a chalkboard, post key words that every man should include in his profile, and teach them what to say in an email when they reach out to the Ladies. I could pass out cliff notes, and cheat sheets for dates, just in case they still don’t have a clue after class. But, I could graduate the ones who do with beers.

              Oh, I could also teach them how to take a selfie so they would post something other than the pics with their last kill; a deer, a turkey, or the biggest fish they caught. Who are they posting those pics for? Another man? You really think we women like to see a bloody deer you hold up by its horns, or ten pics of your dog or car? Yeah, that class I would name Selfie Photo One. Then the follow up class I would name, Selfie Photo Two that emphasized on the essential body parts a woman is most interested in and hobbies. No ladies, not dinger pics, but fine things like nice smiles, biceps, or six pack abs; I agree very few men on the planet have a six pack. Most of them actually have a keg gut, but I’d like to see a few that at least looked like they drank a few less beers. Maybe shots in a tight fitted T-shirt, nice fitting jeans, or speedo. Okay wait, no speedo, scratch that. But don’t get me wrong, while I do love all the pics of your shirtless chest, your dogs, your adventures, your cars, I want to see men hugging their mommas, grilling nice steaks, or building a house. Your curves, your face, your smile, your surroundings tell me a lot like are you a neat guy? A clean freak? Or do you have piles of pizza boxes, un-dumped trash cans, and your toilet covered in pubic hair? Not that I need those pictures, but it would be nice to know rather than be surprised when I use your restroom.

              I scolded myself for that last thought. I was becoming a bitter old lady. What happened to me? I was no longer looking at this as an adventure. My point of view was being muddied by the slush pool of unimaginable guys out there. And nowhere was my Prince to be found. Ugh! Bitter old lady I admitted to. I was out of control, couldn’t help it. I was becoming increasingly lonely, begging the Good Lord to please send me someone, anyone worthy of my time. Then while I scanned the countless anyones on the dating sites, I was just disgusted. “Okay, Lord, new plan. I lied, not just anyone please, I need that special someone you have picked out just for me. The one that you said would come if I had patience. I’m ready. Ready to receive him now.
”
Well, yes I did have patience once back then and it took the breath out of me. But this is now, I am turning blue. Today my loneliness was getting the best of me.

              My morning started off on a bad note with the talker, now it was deep in the afternoon and I had nothing. No plans; no follow-up dates; no clue as to what to do with myself for the evening. I had already railroaded all my dating sites, snacked on not so good for me foods, and drowned myself in self-pity. There was nothing left. Then I realized what works best for me other than sleep when I’m in this self-pity loathing lonesome mood. Exercise. So off I was, to run the adjoining neighborhood. I’ve always believed a good run frees the soul. There’s a sense of accomplishment, a sense of freedom, a sense of endorphins releasing in all areas of your body. There’s pool after pool of blood flow waking up areas that lay dormant, increasing the oxygen to the veins, strengthening the lungs, tightening up the crevices within the curves of the buttocks. All your muscles are in unison giving each one a special job to keep you going strong long after you want to quit. Yes, a run is just what I needed. I laced up my shoes, grabbed my iPod, and locked my apartment behind me. First order of business for a warm up; run my three flights of stairs, three times.