Yeah…I get it…sort of…

I’m in the last blossom of middle age, and I’d be damned if I can figure out what’s going on in the world of dating and relationships. I know I’m not alone in this. I see it on the dating app I’ve been using. Heck, many a man (haven’t looked at women’s profiles) says as much. No one knows what they want, or even if they do, once it hits them in the face like a cold haddock, they still deny it’s real.

I’ve had my share of mystery lately, and of course it includes my favorite character, Glamour Man. But I’ll get to him in a moment.

I’m flipping through some choices on the dating app and seeing guys turning up in my feed that have absolutely nothing to do with what I’ve posted in my profile. I’m getting people who live several states over, are about 30 years younger than me, or share ABSOLUTELY no interests with me. Worse, their profiles are rife with misspelled words and awful grammar. Yeah, I know, that’s being picky, but when someone says, “U cn where heals when we dance” somehow rankles me to no end. And yes, that’s a real message. I actually read it twice to figure out what it meant.

So imagine my delight when a seemingly promising man answered my message. He had a rather jokey profile that made me not only want to read it several times, but it got funnier each time I did. I sent him an equally witty message in return. And he answered! I didn’t have time to reply when I saw it and thought I’d be able to later. I imagined the coffee shop we’d be sitting in, sipping a Fair Trade Columbian roast, trading witticisms as we admired the gleam in each other’s eyes. Thought up a few snappy sentences for a reply. As I set out to do so, I get a rather unexpected message: PROFILE UNAVAILABLE. Damn! He gave up or found someone else.

Within a day or two of that, Glamour Man texts me. He’s double-checking to see if I still need him for the volunteer job I recruited him for. Ohhh…kay…sure! Fresh off the rejection of Dating App Man, at least GM is still out there. Yes, I say. Will you show up, though? I respond. He promises he will. I laugh incredulously, but leave the snark out of the text. See you at 11:00. I’ll be there, he texts back.

Sure you will, I think to myself as I scroll through some more profiles, doubting his word.

I arrive at the club, ready to do some hardcore cleaning. One of our highly-used spaces in the summer has been neglected over the winter and I volunteered myself to clean it. Had nothing else better to do, anyway, and it burned off some frustration I’d been harboring. I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing a stubborn surface when a voice I longed to hear sets my heart a-pitter pattering.

“Well, hello stranger.” It’s Glamour Man. He’s smiling at me.

Six months have passed since our first and only date. He looks great, as he always does. I try not to pass out from shock. I rise to my feet, and plant my hands firmly on my hips. “I could say the same thing. Where’ve you been?”

He comes to me and gives me a nice friendly kiss. It’s not the kind that says, “Darling, how I’ve missed you.” It’s more like, “Nice to see you again.” A hug is involved, so there’s that. It’s all rather anticlimactical.

I show him what to do and we set about cleaning the place. He’s pretty industrious and we do a great job of shaking out the winter so the space will sparkle for the late spring. We discuss our jobs, my son, current events, stupid things we did in high school and beyond, and pretty much everything except what he wants from me. Or what I’d like from him.

As I glance at him now and again, I fantasize grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking the life out of him. “WHY ARE YOU BREADCRUMBING ME? WHAT TOOK YOU SIX MONTHS TO SEE ME?” But I don’t. Am I chicken? You bet. I have no trouble ripping into someone off who cuts in front of me, yet I don’t want to offend or chase off GM. What an idiot I am, I think to myself. What happened to my nerve?

Finally, there’s nothing more that we can clean. While other sensible males would keep the rest of the afternoon open so they’d have an excuse to take a woman out to dinner, or at least grab a slice, GM has plans with a friend. They’re doing guy things. Of course.

I totally surprise myself by the next words that come out of my mouth. “So we’re not having sex, then?”

You should’ve seen the look on his face.

I laugh. “Just kidding,” I say, as I rearrange the paper towels on the closet shelf. They don’t have to be, but it gives me something to do as those words linger in the air.

“I promised. He’s an old friend.” It comes out sounding like a half-regret. GM stands there for a moment. A smile, then, “Well, I plan to be around a lot more this summer.”

“That’s nice.” The paper towels are now standing as straight as soldiers in two rows. I close the closet door and turn to face him. “See you around, then.”

GM walks towards me. I’m glued into place. His glance never leaves mine. His arms wrap around my back, pulling me toward him. It’s a gentle move, until our bodies are touching.

“Are you going to kiss me?” I ask.

“I’m trying to.”

And boy, does he ever. I haven’t had a kiss like that, in, let’s say, ever. It lingers, soft and slow. My arms rise up to brush his hair on the back of his head. He embraces me tighter. Our breaths intensify, as does the kiss. If it continued for much longer, I would’ve taken absolutely no responsibility for what would come next.

But like any wondrous thing, it ends, softly, two sets of lips resting together in recovery. We pull away, as slowly as we came together. One more glance, a little peck, then we’re apart.

I can’t remember what we said to each other after that. Really doesn’t matter. Something about goodbye, see you soon and I’ll call – standard post-sexual something dialogue – and he leaves.

On the way home, my mind fills with stars. I don’t know how else to put it. Look up at the sky at night and that’s what you see. Within the darkness are millions of points of light, all glimmering for your attention. You can stare and them in wonder, or stare and wonder what someone is thinking of you. Or maybe it’s you thinking of them. Conveniently, you can also turn that wonder into a wish and pin it to a star.

Me? I’m more confused than ever. But at least I have that kiss….