I was dressed to the nines. Okay – maybe the sevens.
Little black skirt, little black top, and a lightweight jacket that didn’t hide my assets entirely. The heels and stockings completed the look, and the scent of Chanel drifting off the pulse points didn’t hurt. Not your usual evening fare for Barnes & Noble.
I’ve spent plenty of date nights at B&N with a book, but last Friday night was different. I had dinner plans (thus the attire), was early, and popped into my local book store to kill time. A middle-aged man in a tweedy jacket was seated in a plush chair nearby. I was restlessly thumbing a book on Italy, and he struck up a conversation.
“What do you?” he asked. “I’m an unemployed writer,” I replied, flippantly. He raised an eyebrow. “Really?” Apparently unperturbed by the U word (which I was hoping would keep him at bay), then: “Do you do any editing?”
Alright! My big break!
Okay, I think – it’s serendipity. I don’t look like the unemployed masses (what do the unemployed masses look like, anyway?) and life is what happens when you’re making other plans. Perhaps this is opportunity, knocking when least expected.
He asks what I charge, and I explain that I’d need to see the material, a chapter for example, and then could provide an estimate. He hesitates. “I’m not a professional writer,” he says, “but it’s a 900 page manuscript on American history. I think it’s in pretty good shape, but it needs edits. Do you have a card?” 
We exchange cards.
Then it starts
“Well you look beautiful,” he says, “and I think you should blow off your date whoever he is and I’ll take you to dinner.”
Shit.
“I have plans,” I smile, “but thank you for the compliment.”
“Blow him off,” he says earnestly, and thus begins the stream of boomer babble:
“Have dinner with me. I’m very lonely because you see my mother just died and I’ve got my dogs but it’s not the same as my mother, and I’m feuding with my brother over the estate and I attribute that to the fact that he wasn’t breastfed as a baby and you know everyone was going to the bottle in the fifties and sixties and that really was a problem, and I’m lucky you see because I was breastfed though it’s a shame he wasn’t because all those good nutrients you get from the breast – well, that really does make a difference, but it’s good I’ve had my book to keep me busy and you know it solves the conspiracy question over JFK, and I could share that with you if you’d blow off this other guy and go out to dinner with me, you know?”
OMG
He takes a breath. I want to scream, or throw books at him. Or run. Can I have my card back?
“I really need to go, but it was nice meeting you,” I say, edging my way around a table as another woman shoots me a knowing “oh-you-poor-thing” glance beneath her fringe of silver bangs.
“I’ll call you,” he says as I’m walking away, pulling my thin jacket tighter around my buxom little self, and heading off to what was – thankfully – a normal dinner.
The phone
The next day – Saturday – I’m home and writing, as usual. Besides, I’m the wheels, chauffeur to a 16-year old with a social life. (Where are my sultry Indian summer Saturday nights out?)
My cell rings a bit after noon. I recognize the number and don’t pick up. It rings every hour, until 9:30 Saturday night when I can’t stand it any longer. I answer. He talks. I interrupt.
“I’m tied up,” I say.
“Oh,” he replies, sounding surprised. “When can I call you?” 
It’s Saturday night! Doesn’t he know the unwritten rule about NOT calling on Saturday night? I get it. The man is lonely, and I know what that’s like. He’s lost his mother, and I know what that’s like. But he’s needy and socially inept and who knows what else. I’m not going to be his maternal, breast-feeding stand-in!
“I’m busy with my teenager,” I say. He persists, and I tell him again that I’m not available, and hang up. But I feel guilty.
Guilt, lessons, tips
Single parents are specialists at guilt, in fact single parent guilt has its own twist, but this is different. This is soft-hearted-I’m-an-easy-mark guilt. He’s probably a perfectly nice man. But after a lifetime of taking in strays and nurturing others, I’m not going there.
A manuscript? Who knows. Trying to pick me up? Definitely, but a botched effort, without question.
And just in case you missed the tips – here they are again:
- DON’T lead with the “L” word – Loneliness
- DON’T discuss bodily fluids – yours, your mothers, or anyone’s
- DON’T bring up death in the first five minutes
- DON’T say you’ve solved a conspiracy theory of international dimensions
- DON’T babble. A woman likes to know you can breathe.
As for what you should do? Almost anything else!
Pointers and experiences of your own to share?
Ah, the single life after 40…
That’s the last time I hang at B&N in my sexy stilettos and black stockings… next weekend it will be Borders, in jeans, with my nerd glasses. And I’ll try not to peek up from behind my book.
…
…
Oh, jeez. I’m so lucky I don’t have to pick anybody up. I swear I’d make a complete ass of myself. Actually, the one time I think I did try to pick someone up I remember doing the classic stutter thing — couldn’t get the words out. I don’t remember, but I probably thew my hands up and walked away a failure
I’m glad you stood up for yourself. No need to waste time with the idiots. It’s tough to have to lay the smack down on a poor guy who just lost his mother. But, better that than some overly freakish guy constantly pestering you.
Sounds like the kind of guy who makes you want to bathe after the encounter. Ugh.
Sorry he has your number but I’ve fallen for that “it’s about business” one too.
You made me laugh again. I wrote a column about Internet Dating so I think I’m sort of an expert on that form of dating as I met a LOT of women that way and keep a journal of the experiences. Hopefully, a book someday.
As for the pick-up lines, I had my very best pick-up almost ever in a B&N. I was there, by myself, and I observed an attractive woman walking around with a man. I knew it was a first date and it was clear as day that she wasn’t the least bit interested in him nor did they look right together.
Later, she was alone and we were on opposite sides of a table of books. I looked up and said, “He was all wrong for you.” Surprised, she asks what I’m talking about and I say “that guy you were with – all wrong for you.” She laughs and we begin a conversation. I was right, it was a first date, and she and I exchanged numbers after a lovely talk.
We went out for quite a while and we’re still friends, now that I’m married. So, good things can happen at a B&N!
I was going to say, that guy had awesome pick-up game by telling you to blow off your date. Confidence! But then he babbled about breastfeeding and burst the bubble. Bummer!
Ah, the “breast man.” He gives breastfeeding a bad name.
You had an interesting weekend. I’m not sure you should be hanging out in bookstores at all… for more than one reason!
Bad boob babble bursts bozo boomer’s brilliant bubble!
First, I love the description of your outfit! I don’t have many occasions to get dressed up. I’m glad the remainder of your evening was better.
When you wrote “serendipity” it immediately took my mind to the John Cusack movie.
Loved the tips. I hope the guy got the hint and won’t call again.
Serendipity! A wonderful movie. Manhattan at Christmas, the glove, the book, John Corbett with that long hair (!), and eventually, the glove falling out of the sky in the light swirl of snow, the skating rink, Rockefeller Center… ah, yes. Definitely a chick flick. (Hmm, maybe I can find it on cable.)
Wow. What a story. I am sorry you had to go through this. And I am not because here you are sharing this hilarious tale with us. I love how you convey this to us with both humor and sympathy. You do not make fun of this man, but you sketch him with understanding and curious depth. Poor guy
I was actually impressed that he was able to start the conversation so well. And then went where no man should ever go. No man…
All, I can hope for, is that he was telling himself, “Shut up, shut up! Why am I still talking… ARRGGGHHH!”
Lol! Your posts always make me laugh- a much needed bit of joy in an otherwise long day! This is so funny. Yes, unfortunately with some men- when you give an inch they take a mile! I got offended the other day when the butcher at my local grocery store called me “sweetie” or “beautiful” for the umpteenth time. I think it is cheeky and shows a lot of nerve. But in the end, you simply must be flattered…
OMG! I am totally dissolved in laughter here. But seriously? Breastfeeding? I think he was broadcasting some personal goals with that one.
Kinda reminds me of a first date a friend had with a guy she met at an online site. The first date was at my house, with me and all my kids there and her kids and he went off about how any woman could get a date at one of our local grocery stores here.
Yeah, it was creepy and weird. But now I dress a lot nicer when I go to the grocery store.
You can’t make this stuff up, can you? Kudos to you for looking smokin’ hot, though.
I would add that a man shouldn’t talk about his dogs as if they are children (seriously) upon first meeting.
Oh my God this was a hoot! Thanks for the laugh
I loved hearing your trials and tribulations – mostly because they were not mine this time. I have written about online dating many times. I think I have given it up.
I applaud you for going out and looking totally hot!
Off to see if Serendipity is on tv tonight or I can rent it off iTunes.