I hate dating and I hate that at my age I have not found THE ONE. I’m not even sure if THE ONE even exist for me anymore. I’m pretty content on my own. I have great friends and although socially I could use a bit of a pick me up it’s not dire. However, I still miss that personal man on woman companionship that you can only get by dating.
I’ve been divorced for some time now that it really is not worth mentioning. I was in a very serious relationship for a few years and after leaving that baggage where it should be I have decided to start dating again. Unfortunately the whole process seems like a very lengthy application process for a low-paying part-time job. Well, maybe not that bad. I’m learning a lot during this process and I like getting acquainted with someone even if it does not work out.
He has a nice smile, a little peppered gray hair, and looks like David Tennant’s Dr. Who in his suit. We make small talk when it’s just the two of us in the elevator which is most mornings. I’m on thirty-three and he presses thirty-four. I begin to look forward to getting on the elevator in the mornings and am disappointed when I don’t see him even though I have no clue to who he is.
One day he introduces himself and extends a hand while he asks my name. I tell him, unable to contain that stupid school girl giddy smile that I’m way too old for but it’s like an involuntary muscle reflex. I like that, the first brush of seduction.As I step out the elevator he hands me his card. Oh goodness is he expecting me to call? I am prohibited by old school rules to make the first call. Why didn’t he ask me for my information? I’m a bit crushed when the doors close.
A few days go by and I don’t see him. This is not unusual but now I’m feeling frenzied because maybe I should call. A whole week goes by and nothing! I seek counsel with my girlfriends. It’s fifty-fifty. Half say if he were really interested he would have asked me for my number, so don’t call. The other half says New Millennium women don’t wait for phone calls but make the call themselves. I agree with my New Millennium women. Why stand on the sideline waiting for something to happen when I can join the game and make it happen? Be dating proactive.
I call. Actually I dial and hang up before I get to the last digit. I do this for two days. I feel so pathetic yet excited and still no elevator sighting. I call again and I can feel the blood pulsating in my head as I listen to the annoying rings. I. Will. Not. Hang. Up. Of course it goes to voice-mail Never even thought about what I would say after hi. Do I invite him to a cup of coffee or lunch? We never had a full length conversation over anything just quick bits about the weather, the Celtics, what was in our Dunkin Donuts bag. With the phone burning at my ear and my tongue turning to sandpaper I want to hang up, maybe I’m not the new Millennium girl after all but the beep sounds and I have to say something.
Hi, it’s me from the elevator, the girl on the thirty-third floor. Just calling because I haven’t seen you on the elevator and well, just wanted to say hello, I know you guys are pretty busy up there. Okay, umm talk to you when I see you, I guess.
As soon as the phone is in the cradle I realize I didn’t leave my name or number and I feel incredibly uncool. I hope he remembers me and has caller ID. I feel incredibly stupid.