A Gift Worth Waiting For
Much of this column may seem more like a horror story than a holiday one, but trust me, I get there in the end. Some of you have drunk dialed or drunk texted. I have done neither, but I have drunk mouse clicked. As confessed in an earlier column, I reached a decision to try on line dating. Just one more click and James Utt would be a commodity on a site for people over a certain age. I hesitated, but with Johnny Walker courage, I took the final step. And thus begun, as The Grateful Dead sang, “A long, strange, trip.”
The names have been changed to protect the incompatibles.
Vanessa was the first woman the site’s algorithms sent my way. She told me I had vacuous taste for watching “The Walking Dead.” The fact that I also watched “Downton Abbey” and “The Good Wife” could not salvage our relationship. Zombies had done me in. Maybe it was the fact she was a vegetarian that made the show so unpalatable to her. Donna was a teacher, as I had been for 37 years. When I happened to mention Machu Picchu, she wanted to know “what” that was. And we wonder why we lag behind so many countries in basic skills and knowledge?
I had high hopes for Angie. She was pretty, a tennis player, and enjoyed art. She was also a Catholic, but said she had no problem going out with an agnostic. While at the Art -A- Fair, the conversation turned to our favorite charities. When she learned Planned Parenthood was one of mine, the rest of the date had as much conversation as one would hear at a Trappist monastery.
Stella liked scotch and participated in senior athletic events, the hammer throw her specialty. I was waiting outside the restaurant where we agreed to meet, when someone came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my torso so forcefully, I swear I heard my spine crack. Liking scotch was not enough. I don’t date women who can beat the hell out of me.
On the phone, Sara seemed to have a great sense of humor. When we meet, I realized I had never, ever seen a person so deeply tanned. It was like she had been sun bathing on planet Mercury. I could handle that, but as the date proceeded, it turned into a “90-10” date. That is where she does 90% of the talking and I struggle to get a phrase in as she pauses to take a sip of wine. When we walked to her car, I discovered that her lips were not the least bit tired from all that jabbering. She reached out and kissed me with the force and suction of a lamprey eel. Her lengthy fingernails dug into my back. Was this our first date or our honeymoon night? When I got to my car, I looked in the rear view mirror to see if my facial features were still in their proper place.
There were other dating misadventures, but I do have a word limit for my column.
I was about to shrink back into the shadows of the non-dating world when Samantha reached out to me. At a restaurant in Corona del Mar, I experienced my best first date. She was kind, funny, and self-effacing. It even gets better. She enjoys wine, “Game of Thrones,” and loves college football. Her father played in the Rose Bowl for Michigan State. Her laughter and smile melt my heart. And holding hands is more satisfying than my first sexual experience. (Okay, that’s a pretty low bar.)
My therapist told me months ago, “Jim, you are going to have to kiss a lot of frogettes before you find a princess. But it will happen.” I think it has. If this season is supposed to bring warmth, joy, and happiness, Samantha has gifted me that. Happy Holidays everyone!
James Utt is no longer on the dating site. He has been seen around town carving a heart and initials into trees.
Good luck, Jim. You deserve this. Now don’t blow by telling her your favorite movie is that Martian movie you always rave about. You can see what kind of impression it made on me since I can’t remember the title.