Excerpts from a Diary

Man Hunt

I consider myself a relatively normal woman. And I should hope that all the people that know and love me think the same of me too. Being the normal woman (if there is such a thing) that I have just professed to be, I went on a date last night.

He is a 37 year old divorcee. I am 23 years old. So I agree to go out on a date and the plan is to go to the city and see a movie. Cool, right? I am an adult I can agree to accompany a man to the movie theater and watch a movie for an 1 hour and 30 minutes. I figure what do I have to lose it is not like I have a hundred men banging down my door trying to whisk me away to a romantic dinner and a movie everyday, or every month, maybe I will get an offer once a year - usually it is the drunk on the corner with the brown paper bag, and gray teeth that shouts "Nubian Queen" as I get off the bus, of course he leers after he says that - glaring at my breasts and swaying against the wall of the apartment building. But I digress.

I am decided that I needed a social life. How can I really have one unless I get out there and meet people, so I did. I went out there and met Dane, now this is a guy that has a job and is really a nice person, I am basing this on one telephone conversation and one date (scary aint it) but he is 37 years old. Don't get me wrong there is nothing wrong with dating an older man, but what I expected and what I got was two different things.

From our initial meeting we were talking and laughing, which in translation mean that I was searching desperately for a reason why I should not run like hell from the train station.

Let's examine first the fact that he is 37. Do that math with me now:
If I were 3 years younger and
He were 3 years older
Then there would be an even 20 year difference in our ages.
All I could think was "I am dating my father!"

He was really nice don't get me wrong but being that he has been around the block a few times that he probably owns a concrete slabs on the pavement and here I am having never even approached the block as yet...I don't think I would know the "block" if I saw it, I would probably get lost if I were left there alone.

Anyway, by the time we entered the train we were officially on our date and making small talk. I was really surprised at how much we hit it off but there was that nagging thought in the back of my head like this dude is 37....37 - 14 years from now I will be his age. I can have children in that time and be preping them for the HSPA by that age. I was in awe...not that I have not been around older people or men but it was just the thought that I was considering seeing a man (romantically) that was that old. I could not wrap my mind around it. It was like seeing your reflection in the glass display case in the museum's prehistoric sections. You catch a glimpse of your awed expression as you peer up at the relic. I caught a glimpse of myself doing that a few times.

I could not believe that he was real you know and considering me. Where were the women in his age group? Why was I being asked to squeeze this fruit that had been sitting on the shelf for 37 years. How many other people had squeezed his fruit? And put it back? I know I am missing something.

We walked around the city for a while (yes, I continued on the date) and talked and ate from street vendors and browsed...and talked. I was really impressed by how much we had in common. Or all the stuff I had agreed with him on.

We decided that we would see a movie and being the liberal and feminist that I am, I opened the door for myself and paid for both of us to see the newest installment of Blade (oh my God could Wesley Snipes be more unattractive, I think the word I am grasping for is unfortunate - his body on the other hand...ooooohhhh!).

We just barely got through the previews and he is holding my hand. I mean we had not held hands for the entire time we were outside or in public but once the lights dim his finds my hand and holds it. Please consider my past. The last time a man, in the primary stages of a relationship, held my hand was four weeks into our acquaintance. Here I don't even know this guys last name and he is holding my hand, kissing and sucking on the back of my hand and kissing on me in a dark theater on 42nd Street in Manhattan. "You seem nervous", he says. I had been holding myself so still my back began to ache. I was like "you damned right I am nervous, any sudden moves from me and you will inhale my upper arm." I was too through...it is not that I mind public displays of affections but from people that desire it from. I kept telling myself that if I focused really hard on the screen he will get the picture that my $21 was not going to go to waste on smooching on my "dad".

I don't know which was worst, the walk back through city with him holding my hand and the stares that I kept getting - you know the ones - the "what-is-she-doing-with-a-man-twice-her-age" looks or the awkward moment at the end of the date when I told him that I had his number and I had a good time "really" but would kiss him in public.

I probably imagined the whole thing but damn!

By the time the night ended I just wanted to sit in my room and rock back and forth mindlessly fathoming the eerieness of the situation. He was a nice guy. But I am 23 years old and maybe the remedy for the emptiness is "danger" or "excitement" or "intrigue". I am not asking for Prince Charming - he existing only in Fairy Tales, I am not asking for a man on parole either...just someone that has attitude and charisma and some "STYLE". Where are the men with style gone? The ones that are not following the Sleepless-in-Seatle-recipe for romance. The men that lead real lives minus the DRAMA and the women that bring drama - including but not limited to their MAMAs.

Calling all men with style!

I told him in the end..."we will review your application and get back to you soon!"...I have not called him back yet.

posted by Onika @ 5:28 PM