So, dear readers, things are getting a little dull.

In my quest to find the Love of My Life by only talking to men I meet offline, I have become good at smiling and saying, ‘hi.’ I have become great at getting dates after singles’ dances and speed dating. But the results, lately, have been disappointing for me.

And so I practice another skill that Annie, my dating coach, taught me: how to say ‘no’ after about date number three.

It’s simple, really. Call him up, meet for coffee. Say you’ve been thinking about it, and it’s not a match. He’s a great person, but it’s just not going to work between the two of you. At this point he may be relieved and agree. Or argue a bit. Whatever it is  — smile, listen, and repeat. Wish him the best and walk away.

Walking. Smiling. Walking some more.

Onward. This weekend I took myself to the annual SFPorchfest. A lovely bunch of free music all over my neighborhood (shout out to Gutter Swan! You guys nailed Red Dirt Girl!) and I am smiling at men. Their wives are glaring back at me. No matter. I smile at them too.

I’m about to head to the next band when I get the call: my reading glasses are ready.

New glasses & a Jaguar

So there I am, all the way downtown on a detour to pick up my glasses. They are blue and I want to wear them as I head back home, but they are for reading so everybody looks fuzzy as I head down Kearny Street. I am vain, so I keep them on.

The men downtown are in a fuzzy abundance today, so I continue my smiling and saying ‘hi.’ Things are going really well, and I’m up to about a dozen men.

Then I make a terrible mistake.

Ma’am, might I ask you a question?

You know those perfume/makeup/beauty supply places where men stand outside the door, offer you a sample of something, and then ask if they can ask you a question?

If you’re a woman who has ever gone shopping, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Well. I did it. I smiled and said hello to the handsome young Brazilian man who handed me a small sample of moisturizer. Now that he is closer, he is no longer fuzzy. His tan skin and hazel eyes are delicious. His small anchor beard is hipster without going overboard and suits his face impeccably. Before I could say ‘but I have 23 jars of moisturizer at home!’ I’m in the store, seated and being complimented about something as his hazel eyes gaze steadily at me.

I put my regular glasses on. This is going to take 20/20 vision to get out of.

Jaguar to the rescue!

Aha! My middle-aged mind is still working. I whip out my phone.

“Okay, I know you want to sell me something, but first I have to ask you a question,” I say.

Handsome Brazilian looks miffed and shrugs.

“What kind of car is this?” I shove my phone toward him and ask.

You see, that morning I’d received a text message from a guy I’d dated awhile back  — it didn’t work out — but we stayed friends and talk once in a while. His text message was a photo of a car he’d just bought.

Ugh. It looked very nice. And he seemed very pleased with his purchase. But I am terrible at car makes and models, so I just texted back …. ‘Whoa, nice!’

And now, in the thick of these handsome (and I assume lovers of the finer things in life) young gentlemen in the store, I figured they would know what car we were looking at.

Brazilian guy unfortunately is not a car guy. I walk back outside to a throng of other  gentlemen and show them the photo.

Silence. Their eyes widen and then a slow nod of appreciation.

“That’s a brand-new Jaguar,” says one.

“It is? Wow! Thanks guys”

I turn and walk away. Brazilian yells that he has another quick question for me. But I don’t hear him.

##