A close friend of mine kept nagging me about another friend of hers. Recently divorced with two boys and a girl.
“Just like me!?!?”
Her friend is in her early fifties and lives a couple towns over.
Since the sudden move to Riverside six years ago, I’ve had several friends set me up with another of their other divorced friends. Most of the time I’ve come out of it with another divorced friend of my own. Most of the time…
I gave in and met this girl for a late lunch. We both walked into the restaurant at the same time. Now I figured this was her when she pulled up in one of those fancy battery issued kind of automobiles. The complete opposite of my precious Betty the Green Blazer.
Long story short…. We sat down, she ordered an ice tea and I ordered a manhattan.
Yes a manhattan!
I’m a trading floor alumni. We don’t follow that “it’s five o’clock somewhere” rule. Market closes at two o’clock, cocktails poured at two o five o’clock!
Blah, blah, blah…. Typical job interview date. Here is where the date turns south. She’s in her early fifties with age appropriate children. Two in college and one finishing high school. I’m in my mid fifties…. Okay… my later fifties and I have a daughter in fifth grade. Those numbers didn’t fit very well with Suit Pants Sally.
“I should probably tell you John that this is a red flag immediately for me.”
I’m thinking to myself, “Hazel is a red flag? Oh jeez… what would George be? A nuclear blast? How about Mellow Fritz? Maybe he gets away with a yellow card?”
Sitting at a table across from us are Don and Cecilia Shepley. So I better keep my cool with my parents popping down for the halibut.
“Maybe you should cut your losses, finish your ice tea and sail away in your “Tasella!”
(That’s how I pronounce Tesla.)
So she took a sip from her glass, crumpled up her napkin and pushed away from the table into the obsolete of life.
The waitress must have seen the end of my awkward date interview and rushed over to see if I was alright.
I explained that it was a first date set up by a mutual friend. Unfortunately it ended when I refused a hand job under the table. The waitress laughed and asked me if I was staying for lunch.
“Hell yes I’m staying…. I’ll have the ribeye, medium rare and another manhattan please!”
That poor lady drove her fancy car back to Fancyburg without no JumboLove. Probably better for her… my ten year old daughter would have chewed her up and spit her out.
“Hazel!!! When you spit out gristle at the table, you must be discreet and fold it nicely in the napkin before you place it under your lap! Never crumple it up and leave it on the table.”
…and so ends another adventure in the life of a Divorced Dad raising three crazy kids, yelling and screaming buys and sells for a living and driving a hunter green 1997 Blazer with a “I Love Hot Mom’s” bumper sticker.
The perfect sitcom for CBS. Sunday night after “Sixty Minutes,” the new show….
“Put the Smile on the Sun.”
