The Auction - Date #13

I came home last night after meeting Mr. Big (see The Lesson) vowing I was done with dating. My son was at his dad's, so no one was there to hear me, but still I ranted aloud. "Over. Finished. I'm twice-divorced and single. So be it."

What sent me off? Date #13, who turned out to be smart, interesting, easy to talk with, as well as nice-looking. Our son's are nearly the same age. We share similar interests. Plus, he wants to be in love and my guess is, he'd be willing to work at it.

Of course, there were differences. Like the fact that he owns a dozens guns which he keeps in his bedroom closet. And that he's apolitical, leaning towards right wing.

Still, I probably could live with these things if I'd fallen for the guy. But last night, at least, I didn't. Instead, while driving home from the bar where we'd met for a drink, I was flooded with sadness - about how this funny, clever guy had been trying to sell himself to me. And how I, in a somewhat more subtle way (only because I didn't enumerate my quirks), had been trying to sell myself to him.

I mean really, how sad. That at this age, instead of celebrating ourselves, here we are, decked out in dating finery, voluntarily climbing onto the auction block for prospective buyers to poke and prod us and even inspect our teeth.

No wonder, I hurled my casual, first date, just-sexy-enough-but-not-too outfit into the wash as if it were the enemy. Yuck and good riddance!

Thankfully, life looks different in the morning light. And the first thing I did today after brushing my teeth, was retract my words.

I had to. If I want to love again, giving up is not an option. Like it or not, it just isn't. Or to quote my girlfriend Eustacia, "Forward ever, backwards never."