The Blind Date

Valentine's Day is around the corner. Our minds are turned to finding creative ways to show our loved ones we care. Romantic evenings. Chocolates and lingerie. Nooners. Intimate dinner dates.

My mind turns back to a particular dinner date many years ago.

A particular blind date.

I was 22, newly divorced, and living in Baltimore. I had been dating here and there, but nothing serious. I had been married so young that I'd only dated high school and college boys, previously. Dating real men was exciting. Mature men who owned cars and houses, who knew how to cook, who knew how to choose a bottle of wine and hold a conversation.

I had a good friend Paula, with whom I worked, that was always trying to set me up with someone she knew. Feeling quite confident with my abilities to pick my own men, I usually ignored her. But one day, she burst into work exclaiming that she had found the perfect man for me.

She worked part-time at a hospital and had struck up a friendship with a firefighter/EMT.

Firefighter? My ears perked up. She said he was tall, handsome, about my age, funny, strong and completely confident. I was relatively flexible on the first few, but the strong and confident sealed the deal.

I am a strong and sometimes abrasive chick. The only softness I have now is the direct result of procreating, and it was definitely lacking at that point in my life. I had been intimidating men since the ripe age of 3, and men who melted at my feet were getting very boring. Hearing Paula say strong and confident was music to my ears.

I gave her permission to give him my phone number and promptly forgot about it.

Imagine my surprise to find a message on my machine that very evening when I came home.

warning #1: if he calls you within hours of receiving your phone number, run.

He said his name was Matt and he was definitely interested in getting together sometime. His voice sounded sexy (which we all know is an excellent reason to make plans with a complete stranger), but as I refused to show any sign of desperation, I waited until the next night and called him back.

We chatted for a few minutes and made plans for that weekend. He seemed funny and bright and I was actually looking forward to the date. But, being the selfish and thoughtless brat that I was, I cancelled when other plans came up.

He was completely understanding (and I'm sure I was completely deceiving), and we set another time for the following week. We chatted for a bit longer this time, and again I got off the phone excited by the prospect of meeting him.

And, again, I bailed. I'm not sure exactly why, but perhaps my psyche sensed something was off.

I called to apologize (can you believe two family deaths in the same month?), and we talked for a full hour. His job sounded exciting, he talked about his family with respect and love and he was genuinely funny. We set a third date and I was bound and determined to keep it this time.

warning #2: if he's still willing to meet you after two broken dates, keep these three words in mind. Des. Per. Ate.

We planned to meet at the Inner Harbor for dinner. I wasn't willing to make any more complex plans, and he was perfectly happy to meet at the restaurant. I dressed casually, but with my signature 3 1/2 inch heels. Paula had said he was tall, so I knew that wasn't a problem. I headed into the city with less pre-date jitters than I expected. We had spoken at such length, on the phone, that I already felt a certain connection with Matt that most blind dates lacked.

As I milled through the crowd standing outside the restaurant, my eyes were drawn to a guy standing with his back to me. And I instantly knew it was he. How had I known? Was Paula's description that good? Did I experience an instant electrical jolt that drew me across the room?

Actually, it was his Baltimore County Volunteer Firefighter jacket that gave it away.

warning #3: do I actually need to write this one out?

I guess, at this point, I could have done the duck-and-run, but I decided to go ahead and see where the evening led.

As I walked towards him, I noticed that he was not as tall as I had expected. I began to regret the 3 1/2 heels. I tapped him on the shoulder and hesitantly said, "Matt?"

Matt turned around and looked up at me with a smile on his face. Or at least, part of him looked up at me. You see, one eye was looking right at me, but the other eye was looking about six feet to my right.

to be continued....