Me Jane

Maybe it's just the alignment of stars these days, but I seem to be attracting a cascade of...how should I put it...willy-nilly men.

Take Date #14. He called the other day and asked what was up over the weekend. Thinking he meant literally, I began outlining all the activities I had on my calendar, when it hit me that what he was really wondering was whether I wanted to do something with him.

"Is that right?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Oh, okay, sure," I responded then waited to hear what he had in mind. Then I waited some more, until finally asking, "Did you have anything in mind?"

"No," he said. "You choose."

Wait a second, I thought, you're asking me out. You should do the picking, or at least make a suggestion. And that's what I told him.

"But I don't care," he said. "A movie. Dinner. A drink. Whatever you want. Is it so hard for you to choose?"

"No," I replied.

But before I could continue, he said he had to get off the phone. "I'll call you back," he concluded, though guess what, he never did.

Probably, I shouldn't fault the guy. After all, a few weeks before, another fellow had asked me out or kind of did. He wanted me to tell him when, where, and what we were going to do, and he'd show up.

Then there was a third suitor who emailed saying that he was a friend of a friend, but I should know up front that he doesn't chase. By which I assume he meant that if anything was going to happen between us, I should get ready for some heavy lifting.

Now maybe these men thought they were being considerate. And I'm sure some people would say, I'm being a wimp. A strong, independent woman, after all, should know what she wants. Why should the man always have to decide? And it's a legitimate question.

But as a single, working mom who has chosen to freelance, my life sometimes feels like one never-ending, decision fest. I'm not complaining. Still, it would be kind of nice, sort of like getting flowers, to not have to be in charge when it comes to date night, at least right off the bat.

Which doesn't mean I want the hyper-dominant, take charge, me, me, me kind of man, whom I've known all too well in the past. But what about someone in-between. Not too short, not too tall. Not too fat, not too lean. Say, a Marlboro man who does Ikebana. Or even better, a Tarzan who likes to clean.

Baring teeth - Date #14

I may have looked happy-go-lucky as I strolled down Michigan Avenue, but truth be told a litany of negative thoughts were rolling through my mind. "Why am I meeting this guy? I'm not going to like him." That kind of thing.

Fortunately, I tripped on a crack. I managed to stay on my feet, but still it woke me up to the fact that my current mode of thinking was only going to lead me to a miserable time.

Enough, I told myself, and heeding the advice of my girlfriend Lynn, plastered a smile on my face. Even a forced grin, she insists, lifts the spirits. So I bared my teeth a good ten seconds, and then did it again.

Next up, positive affirmations: I'm going to have fun; I enjoy dating; and similar self-talk.

Lastly, I sang. Not so loudly that passersby might think I was loony, but loud enough to let the syrupy lyrics of that upbeat classic, Oh What a Beautiful Morning, sugarcoat my soul.

Sure enough, something shifted such that by the time I came face-to-face with my date, I was, if not transformed, at least open to whatever happened.

And what happened was this. As anticipated, he wasn't The One, not even close. But as we took a walk along the lake, a soft breeze rolled in, and the moonlight seemed to leave a silvery luster wherever it fell.

The conversation wasn't half-bad either, plus I laughed twice, the deep-in-the-belly kind of laugh, which was worth the entire night.

Unfortunately, as we were about to part, he asked what should never be asked on a first date -- what did I think of him?

I considered for a long moment, remembering the easy laugh. "I think we could be friends," I finally said and really meant it.

I could tell by the sudden, glazed over look in his eyes, it wasn't what he wanted to hear. Nonetheless, he was polite and said he'd call.

To his credit, he did and even suggested seeing a film. When the time came to figure out exactly when and where, however, I received an email instead. He'd been stricken by a very bad cold, he wrote, and could barely move.

Truthfully, I wasn't surprised. But still I was glad we met. He'd taught me something important. That I always have a choice, even if all that's involved is a matter of perception.