I Married (a) Dick With Nice Legs

I’d been drinking an average of two bottles of wine a day, every day, for a couple of years when I met Dick. We were both members on a popular dating site and he had reached out to me first with a “Hello”. Our conversations quickly ensued. He was never brash or pushy, which I appreciated and we began to correspond on a fairly regular basis. I discovered through his mini biography and through correspondence that he worked as an IT tech for a major airline, he loved his dog, he’d never been married, had no kids, and he was an avid skier and cyclist. He was 46 and I was 35.

His main profile photograph on the dating site didn’t impress me, but another picture of him standing near the ocean on the sand with a surfboard did. He had also posted several pictures of himself on his road bike. And the man looked good. He just did. He looked healthy and I liked his smile. His teeth were white and straight, and his thighs looked exceptionally strong, which got my attention. It was obvious he spent a lot of time on his bike because the tan line on his legs was glaring. I would find out later that he occasionally shipped his bike to different cities to compete in races.

A couple of weeks into our online chats and emails, I finally agreed to met him for a sushi dinner in downtown Boulder. I arrived buzzed and on time, and asked to be seated outside. It was a beautiful Saturday night – perfect for dinner on the patio. The view of the street musicians and passersby heading up and down the main drag provided the distraction I needed as the time for our meet and greet came and went. Dick was late. I ordered a Saki and silently gave him another 10 minutes. Enough time for me to finish my drink.

I finally noticed him strolling up through the crowd, I waved and he spotted me. He hadn’t bothered to call to let me know he was running late. As he reached my table, he casually pulled the crook of his reading glasses out of his mouth and said “Hi. Are you Jennifer?”

“Yes. Hi.” I smiled and held out my hand to shake his.

“Can I join you?” He shook my hand and then made no move to walk inside the restaurant. I was suddenly unsure what he was doing.

“Yes, come sit down.” I floundered aloud. We were meeting and eating, right? That was the plan we’d crafted together…

Once he sat down, he spoke to his glasses as he folded them and set them next to his water glass.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call, I left my phone at home.” I said nothing and watched him concentrate on his napkin as he shook it into his lap. Who leaves their phone at home on a first date? I wondered.

“I figured you’d probably be late too.” He said, finally looking at me for the fist time. I found that curious as I’d given him no reason to assume that I’d be late. Short of being killed, at the very least I let someone know I’m behind schedule. I consider myself a very punctual person. Instead of asking him what would make him assume that, my Saki infused reply was “No worries.” At that point, I was too happily buzzed to be miffed by his comment. A sober me would have known better.

My book, Saturation, can be found on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/Saturation-Memoir-Jennifer-Place/dp/1461018129

Published by Jennifer

I've finally found my happy place in sobriety. Yay! Go Me!

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