She decided that she would alter herself since she wants to get back into the dating game. And truly, it’s been a seriously long time since she’s been outside the circumference of that arena. Nearly three decades, in fact. She doesn’t think there is a choice to be herself, as her former relationships resolved in heaps of debris. She wants this one to work, if only for a limited shelf life. She knows it’s on her – her failed relationships. This time around she mustn’t be a negative Nelly. She should be optimistic Opal, even though her name is Glenda.
When she looks in the mirror she thinks – hey, is that really you? You certainly look the same. Yet your glance is less serious. More relaxed. As if swiped clear of stress. That’s it. It’s subtle, but it’s there. It is. There is an attitude shift in her appearance. She’s made a list of things she wishes to do before the end, which maybe is coming sooner than expected, following a serious health scare some months back with major surgery and a clear scan a few months subsequently. Then again one never knows… about the next scan or the one after that. She decided somethings needed doing. It’s as plain as that.
She has been off men for so long that she has no idea how to present herself to a prospective beau. Still, she doesn’t want to end her days completely alone. A hug now and again may fill the void, yet will it? This sort of online operation is foreign to her. So, she does a little prep work to assess how to get started. Ok, a photo – the most important. Second the pitch.
Shouldn’t ramble on too much. Make it short and to the point: Seeking long term relationship. Hate crowds, hate noise, hate barking dogs, hate people who rattle bags in the cinema, hate folk who walk three abreast on narrow sidewalks, hate people who are perpetually cheerful, hate people who play loud things and screech on cellphones travelling public transport forcing all to be part of their lives, hate people who clang utensils on glass food containers, hate gum crackers, hate, hate… Contact me to know more. OK, perhaps too much hate. Delete, all but two. And, perhaps scorn is a softer word. Well, it’s somewhat mysterious. If the photograph is appealing to a certain somebody, then it will have done the trick. It isn’t long before she gets a few hits. She isn’t attracted to any of these possibles and is no spring chicken herself, but is in good shape for her age, deciding to give a few a go for the sake of getting back into the game. Also, for the purpose of honing her character alteration.
The first in the ‘date series’ is Howard. They meet at an Italian restaurant called Leandro’s. She didn’t mention that she has previously dined here on multiple occasions, and that she knows the menu practically by heart. He chose the venue so she didn’t want to seem like a fusspot from the get-go. What would you like to drink Glenda? Wine, thank you. Red or white? Red. I would prefer red. He decides on the Carbonara and Shaved Raw Asparagus Salad with Parmesan dressing. She chooses the Caprese Salad and soup of the day – Stracciatella. The wine is good and hers is going down too quickly. She must check herself and slow it down, however she is accustomed to answering to no one and it is harder than she realizes.
The atmosphere is romantic with soft, attractive lighting accented by candlelight against the crisp, white linen tablecloths. A single Red Spiker Lily, which symbolizes Death in China and Japan stands in a minute vase. Its stamens seem to want to reach out and touch the people sitting at each table. Tell me about yourself Howard. Well… I’ve been married two times. My first wife died, whom I dated from high school, died and I remarried sometime after, but it didn’t work out. I have three children, two from my first marriage and one from the second. All adults and I’m close with all three of them. They all live in different cities though, so unfortunately, I don’t see them much as much as I would like. I was an accountant. I know, dull – but I’ve always liked numbers and have done alright. What about you Glenda? Here’s where it gets tricky, she must be careful at this juncture not to drop herself into a chasm of pure dark deliverance. Well Howard, I’ve done a bit of this and that. For the last fifteen years I’ve worked for a doctor at his private practice. A gynecologist. She tries to conjure up something positive to say about it, but those thoughts evade her.
She does recall the nasty women yelling at her on the phone when she couldn’t squeeze them in when they were suffering an annoying bacterial or yeast infection that was driving them around the bend. Hell, it was impossible to fit every patient in with a problem into see the doc when they demanded. Yes, they had to wait. And furthermore, he was a cheapskate. Never a bonus at Christmas, but a box of chocolates that his wife probably picked out who was snotty and icy as a Canadian puddle in February, probably picked out. And furthermore, he was always prickly about her being a minute or two late. I mean, for Christ’s sake, sometimes she had debilitating menstrual cramps herself.
All of these complaints are foaming in her mouth. A mouth painted with her favorite shade of lipstick. And she is pissed because they have stopped producing this color which she has sported for years and she is on her last stick. Yet, the only tidbit that escapes her mouth is, well the hours were good and if I needed a consult for a medical specialist, it was readily available. Afterall, I worked for a doctor. Truth be told, when she asked him for one or two, he always refused stating she was his employee and not his patient. So, no Glenda. Don’t ask me again. He was a total dick and the very conjure of him creates an irritating loop in her head.
Well, we do have something in common Glenda. I too hate clamor. Glenda smiles in return and bites her tongue preventing her from letting loose into a litany of gripes on this subject. The restaurant is full and the noise level a cauldron of laughter, conversation and the casual abrupt comment from the serving staff to one another. Hey, pick up faster on table five. Glenda usually doesn’t dine out, preferring grub from a plate perched on her lap while watching a recorded television show. They have dessert and walk into the night, knowing that this was the first and final encounter. Glenda knows she didn’t give off an aura of interest. Howard sensed it too. Best be upfront from the start and not waste frivolous words and time.
The second encounter was Lee. He hadn’t bothered to mention in his profile that he was a sports fanatic. Glenda hates all sports. If there’s anything she is sure of in life, the fastest way to get her to snuff herself is to be stuck at a game or be forced to watch something of similar exertion on television. Just the mere thought of it makes her want to off herself. They meet up at a park downtown. Glenda thought the invitation odd to say the least. He describes what he will be wearing. The style and color depicted as precisely as he can muster. She already knows by his descriptive attire that he won’t do. She hates those sporty male-mommy sweat fusions.
He is seated on a bench near the fountain. It’s a popular fountain with a gold cupid pouring water from a bowl on the top tier onto a lower level supported by gargoyles who rest its mass upon their shoulders. Many enjoy its beauty and the comfort cascading water. As if one’s very worries can be washed away with each flow of liquid.
He is sitting on a bench staring into his phone like many around him. Hey, Lee? Yes, that’s me. Nice to meet you, Glenda. Do you want to sit awhile or take a meander around the park. Let’s walk. I can always use the exercise. He smiles as if this is the response he wanted and they begin a stroll through the green esplanade. Joggers and walkers alike parading down the leafy trail. Glenda, you look like you keep yourself fit. Do you do any sports? No Lee, I guess I’m blessed with the lucky gene. Just getting around seems to do the trick with keeping the calories in check. Little does he know that she does intermittent fasting on a regular schedule. Deprives herself of almost everything enjoyable for the palate and is a stickler for juicing instead of regular food intake. Well… you’re fortunate. I have to keep at it constantly or this will get out of hand tapping his hand on his protruding belly. It’s a beer belly for sure. She can just imagine him sitting on the sofa before a big screen drinking beer after beer, only taking breaks to shovel some snacks into his eager mouth. She knows she shouldn’t judge, but this is impossible for her to control.
He told her about his past relationships, which seemed sporadic in his dating history. He was never married and never lived with a woman. This is a red flag for her. Glenda is no longevity expert herself, as she had only lived with a man for two years and that was nearly thirty years ago. Her ex said living with her was like living with a wild animal impossible to tame. At the time she took it as a compliment, yet in retrospect she came to realize that she was too territorial and uncompromising. Making him wear headphones when he watched television as he liked to listen to it at high volume, which was unacceptable to her. She should have given in a tad here and there, but that was something out of her sphere of can dos. In the end they spilt with hostile and shattered parts. Each spiraling out into the universe of passing time.
Lee and Glenda stop before a food vendor. There are hotdogs, which she loves, sandwiches, chips, chocolate bars and ice cream for the tasting. Can I offer you something Glenda? Just a water please. Little does he know that she is salivating for a hotdog. An extra-large one with all the trimmings. Lee orders a triple ice cream, each scoop a different flavor. He eagerly licks the cone making sure each melting drip does not escape.
They continue their ramble around the park ending their date back in the very spot they met. The cupid glows, ignited by the afternoon sunlight. Nevertheless, it does not bestow a blessing or shoot an arrow in their direction. Glenda, I certainly enjoyed meeting you. Perhaps we can do it again? That would be nice Lee, knowing full well she will not hook up for a second rendezvous.
The third date is Scott. He is the most attractive of the three. However, she’s not that shallow. Looks certainly are not everything. Yet, chemistry must present itself. Encounters cannot exist without life. There must be a pulse of interest, of desire, of curiosity or else what’s the point? They meet at a bar she’s never been too and she is happy for this unknown. He too described what he will be wearing, but she remembers his face from the app. It is an assured face. At least that is what she took from his photograph.
She spots him sitting at the bar engaging with the bartender who is fresh, female and very pretty. She is smiling back and laughing at his unheard joke, so Glenda assumes. Hey, she must, right? This is the protocol of procuring a decent tip. Scott?
Yes, hi Glenda. Would you like to take a table or sit here? Here is fine. He pulls out a stool next to him and the bartender presents herself, immediately asking what Glenda would like to drink? Oh, a white wine please. She presents a menu card with multiple choices, but Glenda says the house brand will suffice. She can tell from the start he is evaluating her in his mind. Her measurements, her wrinkles, her whatever’s.
She knows he’s here for one thing. Something she isn’t much interested in. Little does he know that her sexual position at this juncture, would be the starfish. Her osteoarthritis is so acute that this is probably all she could execute. In another life this sort of man would repel her, all the same she is trying to be a transformed version of herself. Or at the very least, attempt to be. He asks her if she enjoys a good sex life? Well… Scott doesn’t everyone? He smirks and appreciates her response. They decide to have another drink and he orders appetizers. She is already annoyed that he hasn’t inquired about her dietary preferences, likes or dislikes. This has already put him in her no book. They too parted ways with Glenda feigning an oncoming migraine. She falsely agreed to see him again leaving Scott to his drink and hors d’oeuvres.
It’s spring time just. Too cold to start planting, yet Glenda begins her yearly ritual of tilling her flowers from seed. The pots sit in her living room waiting drink and sunlight. She thinks of a seed and what it becomes, which is the same every year. If she plants a daisy, it grows a daisy. The same with sunflowers, wildflowers and every sprout that gets a crack at life each new season. She thinks of herself as a seedling. Regardless, how different she wishes to be, she always grows a Glenda. Not another perennial. No harvest will surprise with something other. She attends to her pots each day examining their growth, knowing that they will blossom exactly as before. Not an altered variant. This realization of order warms her to the core, like the sun upon her back.
