The Twelve Days of Christmas, With My Online Dating Twist

     Merry Christmas greetings to one and all! As part of my “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” dating series, I have penned yet another version of, The Twelve Days of Christmas, with my online dating twist. It’s destined to be a classic for sure!

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My Twelve Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas, online dating gave to me,
No man worth my membership fee.

On the second day of Christmas, online dating gave to me,
Two e-mails from women,
And no man worth my membership fee.

On the third day of Christmas, online dating gave to me,
Three convicted felons,
Two e-mails from women,
And no man worth my membership fee. Continue reading

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The Sound of Silence

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     Hello, friends! Welcome to another “Mis-Matched to Miss Match” episode. I know you were hoping this would be a good news post because I have not written in some time. Sadly, that is not the case.
     The subject of today’s blog is a handsome 42-year-old professional. He was downright yummy. He was intelligent and funny, and we hit it off wonderfully. At the beginning, he was attentive and eager to please. He even sang to me while we slow danced. I was in heaven. It was a romantic dream come true! Slow dancing and singing! Just imagine it! Continue reading

Not So Helpful Dating Advice

advice

     Hello, friends! As my quest for a boyfriend continues through my “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” series, many of you have offered well-intentioned advice. I appreciate that you all care enough to make suggestions. However, I believe some of the suggestions are slightly off the mark.
     The most common advice I have received is:
Continue reading

Drunk and Drunker

dont drink and drive
     Hello, Friends! Welcome to the ongoing saga of “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched.” Today’s dating tales of woe concern two men and their love affairs with alcohol.
     The first bachelor passed the email and phone call tests. When I met him, there were a few red flags, but he seemed fun and easy to talk to. So, against my better judgment, I went on several dates with him.
     He declared that he was working out 4-5 times a week, was living a healthy lifestyle and was going to lose more weight. He had already lost 100 pounds.
     Although I did not observe him making healthy food selections, it was his drinking that bothered me. He did not stop at one or two drinks.
     If you have been following me through this journey, you know I am a one-drink person when I am out, and I am the designated driver. I will not get into a car with someone who is legally drunk.
     During our last date, I met him at his favorite restaurant. This place carried a special type of wine just for him. I learned that on our first date. That was a red flag, but I chose to overlook it.
     He greeted me with a hello kiss. Then he proceeded to tell me how sick he was and how horrible he felt. The congestion in his chest was terrible. He held his chest and coughed. It sounded like bronchitis to me.
     Backing away, I reacted, “Yikes, no more kisses for you until you’re well.”
     He replied, “Oh, you’re one of those.”
     One of those? If you mean people who don’t want you contaminating them with all of your respiratory infection germs, yes, I’m one of those. Be considerate. Good Lord!
     I sighed as I sat across from him.
     Then he coughed and coughed, without covering his mouth.
     I am sure I cringed as I shifted to the right. At least that way he was not coughing directly on me. I mentioned that he should be coughing into his elbow.
     Eventually, he covered his mouth with his hand. But then he wanted me to hold that hand.
     Are you trying to get me sick on purpose?
     Thank God I had antibacterial wipes.
     While he enjoyed his third glass of wine, he saw I was agitated. He asked, “What’s on your mind?”
     Oh, buddy, you just asked the wrong question. I don’t think you really want to know. I’m thinking I’m going to catch this plague you have. And your drinking is bothering me. But since you asked…
      “The amount you drink bothers me. Every time we’ve gone out, except one time, you’ve had a lot to drink. Not just one or two glasses of wine, but multiple glasses. I’m concerned.”
      “I’m not an alcoholic.”
      “Do you drink every day?”
      “I usually don’t go out during the week.”
     Not sure what that had to do with the price of tea in China, I replied, “Well, I won’t ride with a person who’s legally drunk. If you’re always going to drink like this, I will always have to drive.”
     Defensively, he argued, “I am not drunk! Do I look drunk? Do I act drunk? Am I slurring my words?”
      “No.” Because you have built up a tolerance.
     He continued, “My friends drink hard liquor. I drink wine. It’s better. We’re here every Friday and Saturday night drinking at the bar. They drink hard liquor. I drink my wine.”
     Every Friday and Saturday? Drunk is still drunk, dude. Any cop will tell you that. So will a blood alcohol test.
     I stated, “It doesn’t matter what you’re drinking. Alcohol is alcohol.”
     “It’s just wine. And now you’re making me uncomfortable and self-conscious.”
     “Sorry, you asked, and I had to say something because it’s making me uncomfortable.”
     Dismissively, he responded, “You’re making something out of nothing. I’m not an alcoholic. You don’t drink wine, so you don’t understand.”
     What’s there to understand? Wine contains alcohol last time I checked.
     Then he stopped the waitress and asked her for another glass of wine.
     Are you freaking kidding me? Way to show me you don’t have a drinking problem.
     She emptied the contents of the bottle into his glass. This was glass number four.
     As he drank, I got the “you’re not the boss of me” look and vibe.
     I shook my head and ate my dinner.
     I am not trying to be the boss of anybody. But drinking and driving is a serious issue. And I do not want to be with someone who drinks to excess all the time.
     Then he said, “Next you’re going to tell me I can’t ride my motorcycle without a helmet.”
     Heavy sigh.
     Annoyed, I said, “No, you can do whatever you want.”
     Obviously, because nothing I say matters anyway.
     After he drained his glass, he asked the waitress for yet another glass.
     She answered, “I emptied the bottle last time. Do you want me to open a new bottle for you?”
      “Yes.”
     If you are counting with me, this was glass number five.
     Finally, dinner was over.
     After that evening, my texts to him were short.
     He texted, “So I’m assuming by your lack of communication and enthusiasm, you’ve lost interest and can’t get over my evil wine drinking ways.”
     You guessed right! That and your complete disregard for my welfare by spewing all over me and for not understanding why I would not want to put my life into the hands of someone who was legally drunk.
     I wrote, “You disregarded my concern completely. I understood finishing the glass in front of you. Then you had her open another bottle. And you got defensive and dismissive. I can’t handle being with someone who drinks 5 glasses of wine in that short amount of time and disregards my feelings.”
      “Actually it was 3 glasses and that hardly makes me an alcoholic…I wasn’t trying to dismiss you by ordering another glass but I was trying to make a point that I’m 52 years old and I’m pretty set in my ways.”
     I was not going to argue about the number of glasses or about anything else for that matter. I was drinking water and clearly counted five glasses of wine.
     So that was the end of that!

     A friend attempted to help me in my quest for “Mr. Right.” She invited a friend, an extremely wealthy businessman, to meet us for drinks and a light dinner. We were sitting at the bar when he showed up three sheets to the wind.
     Obviously, that was extremely disappointing, in and of itself.
     And did I mention that he looked older than my parents? So, he had nothing working in his favor.
     I was polite at first. But after I had heard the exact same story for the third time, I was mentally done. I tried to ignore him the best I could, but he kept hanging on me.
     I caught the eye of a young, handsome guy a few seats away. I gave him my “help me” look. He laughed and looked away.
     Damn!
     Without another option, I disappeared to the ladies’ room. And I stayed in there entirely too long. When I returned, “Tipsy” was sitting in my chair.
     Thank you, Jesus!
     I quickly sat next to the handsome guy.
     He looked up at me and smiled.
     I smiled back. “I need you to save me.”
     “I know. I saw the look.”
     Exasperated, I threw up my hands. “But you didn’t save me.”
     “Trust me, we’ve got your back.”
     “Who’s ‘we’?”
     “As soon as you left for the bathroom, I watched your drink. I was convinced that guy was going to put something in it.”
     “Really?”
     “Yes. He looks like that kind of guy. A real creeper.”
     I laughed.
     He continued, “And the bartender is watching out for you too. And the piano guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night.”
     “Good to know I’m covered. Thank you.”
     “Don’t mention it.”
     He wore a wedding band.
     Of course, the gorgeous ones are always married!
     I said, “I know that you’re married, and I’m not hitting on you. I just need someone to talk to until he leaves.”
     “No problem.”
     We had a nice conversation. And when his wife and teenage daughter showed up, he introduced me to them. He explained the story. His daughter got wide-eyed when he said he thought the guy was going to drug my drink.
     Glad I could provide a teachable moment. Hopefully, she’ll remember this when she goes to parties.
     This nice family even asked me if I wanted to join them at a booth for dinner.
     “No, thank you. I don’t want to intrude.”
     “If you change your mind…”
     I shook their hands. “Thank you.”
     My friend and Tipsy went out to smoke.
     The bartender said, “You look like you could use that dessert now.”
     I nodded. “Yes, please.”
     I ate my chocolate dessert and talked to the bartender and the pianist.
     Finally, it was time to leave.
     My leather jacket was on the back of the businessman’s chair. He insisted on helping me with it.
     As he slipped on the coat, he commented, “Oh, the leather is so soft.”
     Then he reached around and grabbed my right breast.
     Let me tell you something, dear readers. I have never, ever hit anyone. But at that moment, I really wanted to hit him.
     It took every ounce of strength I had within me not to hit him.
     I hear you screaming, “Why the hell not? Hit him! Slap him! For God’s sake, knee him!”
     I was almost a head taller than him. He had been drinking steadily since he walked in. So, he was drunk as a skunk and unsteady on his feet. And I knew that if I hit him, his sorry geriatric ass would go down hard, very hard. And with my luck, he would have broken a hip. Then he and his army of lawyers would have had me arrested.
     Friends, I would not do well in jail. Not for a single minute.
     Instead, I will let karma take care of him. He will get what’s coming to him in the end.
     In the meantime, I might kill him off in one of my books. Or not. I guess you will have to buy my next novel to find out…

If you or a loved one has a drinking problem, please get help. Here are a few organizations that can help you on the path to wellness.

AA http://www.aa.org/
Al-Anon http://www.al-anon.org/
SADD http://www.sadd.org/

Copyright © 2016 by Suzanne Purewal

A Shape-Shifter, a Sex Addict and a Dominant Male Sign In To Match

     Many of you wondered if I cancelled my Match subscription. Yes, I did, for a little while. But like a moth to a flame, I went back. Some of the old faces were still there. But there was also a new batch of men from which to choose. So, today’s “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” installment will be about the new breed of guys on Match.

     First up is a man claiming to be 50. However, he looked more like 65.
     In his first e-mail, he said, “Science and technology are also a substantial part of my life, I’m on my third 3D printer as well as having machining capabilities in my garage. I do have one minor abnormality I should probably tell you about antlers yep antlers thought they were horns but they fall off every spring. Kind of sucks in the fall I have to stay in, damn hunters. I like watching football so it’s not all bad. Right now I look perfectly normal but in a month or so they’re start to grow back. I’ve had people think there were tumors but nope antlers. It could be worse just ask my brother Rudy.”
     Do I want to know what he is making with those 3D printers? What’s frightening is that he actually wore out two of them, so he is on his third. Ponder that a minute.
     As far as shape-shifting into a reindeer is concerned, reindeers do not turn me on. If he had said he could morph into a unicorn, then that would have piqued my interest. I could have definitely made it work with a unicorn!

     The next unlucky bachelor was 60 and lived in Florida.
     “Your profile is very intriguing…but you might be too young and immature for me.”
     I agree with the young part. The insult on my maturity was uncalled for. Do women respond to that? Does anyone? Oh, the things I wanted to write! But I took the high road.
     I responded, “Thank you for your interest. But the age difference would be an issue. I wish you luck finding a match.”
     “Same to you. The age diff would likely be an insurmountable challenge. Maybe you will mature. Or not…likely.”
     I think I will call him a “verbal abuser.” That guy has issues. I can only imagine what insults he would hurl in person.

     The next bachelor’s profile stated he was 48. In reality, he was over 50. He admitted that during our first phone call. He said no one responded to him when he claimed his real age. He also told me that he had an additional child that he did not include in his profile. His older kids were teenagers. But he had a fling with a 20-something and now has a toddler too.
     He boasted about his high IQ and his accomplishments. His accomplishments were many, and I believe he will continue to contribute to his field of study and beyond.
     However, things went askew during the second phone call when he started telling me about his sex life. Brace yourself, people.
     He claimed to have had sex with over 300 women. No, that’s not a typo. He liked having a harem. Back in the day, he had approximately ten women in his harem at a time. They all knew about each other. So, in his mind, that made it acceptable.
     He stated, “I expect sex on the first date. My success rate is 87%.”
     Stunned, I answered, “I would never have sex with someone on a first date.”
     “Then you wouldn’t get a second date.”
     “That’s fine because I wouldn’t want to go out with someone who demands sex before we even know each other.”
     He bragged, “And I never use protection. I’m allergic to latex.”
     Disgusted, I replied, “I can’t even imagine all of the diseases you have or have had.”
     He shrugged it off. “Nothing that a pill or a shot in the ass couldn’t fix.”
     Repulsed, I said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
     Then he admitted, “Well, I do have herpes. But everybody has herpes.”
     I argued, “No, they don’t! I don’t have herpes!”
     Nonchalantly, he commented, “It’s nothing anyway.”
      Oh. My. God!
     Then he decided to tell me the craziest thing he had done sexually.
     Trust me, it was bad. Really bad. Gross, disgusting bad. Bad enough to make my body involuntarily shiver as I covered my mouth in disgust. I am glad I heard it over the phone. I can only imagine what my reaction would have been in person.
     When I refused to meet him, he got really angry. I was worried of catching something just being in the same room with him.
     The next “conversation” was via texting. He proceeded to insult me at length and used statistics to justify his generalizations about me. He pontificated on and on about how I was the one with problems, not him.
     I argued, “You’re way off base. I’m not an ice princess nor am I mentally ill. I’m just not interested in being part of your wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am harem club.”
     Ignoring me, he continued, “I know my assessment of you is correct. I can base my conclusions on my experience. Since my sample size is so large, statistically, my results and conclusions are valid.”
     I pointed out, “But the women you attract are not a good cross-section of the entire female population. Your results are skewed because of it.”
     “No. I’m always right about women.”
     And that was the end of that.
     The irony was that I felt sorry for him. Several women in his life disappointed him early on. The trend continued, and in essence, broke him. He was unfulfilled and angry at the world. Believe it or not, I did say a prayer for him. He is never going to be happy travelling down the road he is on. I hope he eventually finds peace.

     The last bachelor in today’s episode was an artist.
     His first e-mail read: “Marry me.”
     Jokingly, I replied, “If you didn’t have dogs, I’d consider it.”
     “I don’t have dogs. It’s a typo.”
     Technically, it was not a typo. You have to pick a selection from a menu. If you do not have pets, you skip the section.
     Then he sent me a list of his deal breakers:

     “Heres my deal breakers….what are yours?
     1.) Alpha personalities (which are usually validated through tough ., hypervigilance, and worldly experience) then usually manifest out into a reactionary temperamental disposition which culminates in “not so good” communication, hurt feelings, and an emotional withdrawal from the gentle, nurturing, tenderness and understanding that a relationship needs to galvanize a good foundation.
     2.) Country Music (love the lyrics, don’t like the redundant “twang”) i.e. it’s too “traditional” and not “out of the box-ish”.
     3.) Tacky low-rent tattoos
     4.) Competitiveness
     5.) OCD ( obsessive-compulsive disorder
     6.) Manics and hypomania
     7.) A foul mouth (the “f” word etc)
     8.) Slow-progressive-placated functional alcoholism (when a person is slowly on their way to an addiction through self -medicating with liquor).
     9.) Anything KARDASHIAN. (The Kardashians represent a very self-entitled, self preserving, materialistic, ostentatious way to be as a human being.)
     Everything else I can work with …………….. giggles”

     I admit, I agree with most of the items on his list. However, the two that were issues for me were “alpha personalities” and “competitiveness.”
     He sent me a link to an article he wrote about women. He wrote, in part, “…one of the most revealing and toxic awakenings in our culture today: The emergence of the Alpha personality in women and it’s pervasive influence in the symbiotic growth of the union of woman and man.”
     Wow! And double wow! I just got thrown back to the 1950s. And the editor in me wanted to correct his errors, but I left them.
     I did not lose to boys on purpose when I was young, and I am certainly not going to start doing that now.
     I was taught to always do my best. That way you challenge yourself and others. Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. Not everyone goes home with a trophy. It also taught us sportsmanship and how to win and lose gracefully.
     The competitor in me could not resist responding to the notion of acquiescing at all times. I typed, “As far as being competitive goes, I won’t lose to a man on purpose. If a guy’s ego is that fragile, then he’s not for me.”
     I knew his reply would be negative because I was goading him. Oh, shame on me!
     “i really dont care for your statement … this tells me theres an unecessary competitive streak in you that im not gonna dig. ..take care”
     That is perfectly fine by me because the last time I checked, the year was 2016.

     I believe that some friendly competition is perfectly acceptable in any healthy relationship. Remember to always celebrate each other’s strengths and triumphs. Do not dwell on the negatives or weaknesses. Build each other up!
     To borrow the Army’s old slogan, “Be All That You Can Be.” Life is too short to do anything else.

Copyright © 2016 by Suzanne Purewal

When Will I Be Loved?

broken-heart-clip-art-635689     Whether you prefer the Everly Brothers’ version or Linda Ronstadt’s version of the song, the question remains the same—when will I be loved?

     Originally, this was slated to be my very last “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” article. I even completely cancelled my Match subscription. But, life happened as I was making plans, and I had to change the title, the content, and sadly, the ending.

     First up was a bachelor who proudly proclaimed he was into minimalistic living.
     I replied, “Okay. I can deal with that. I don’t need a bunch of electronic gadgets or toys. I’m content with what I have now.”
     Then he declared, “I will never live in a house again. Ever.”
     At first, I thought he was kidding. I laughed. “But if the woman you married had a house, then you could move into her house.”
     “No. I will never live in a house again, no matter who owns it.”
     Huh? He can’t be serious. “So, you’d rather pay rent and have nothing to show for it? Even if you have a viable alternative?”
     “I’m committed to minimalistic living.”
     At that point, he showed me a picture of the living space in his apartment. There was one chair and a lamp. That’s it. Nothing else. I’m assuming there was a bed somewhere. Perhaps not.
     I commented, “There’s no place for visitors to sit.”
     “I don’t want visitors. Ever.”
     Shaking my head in disbelief, I said, “I have visitors a few times a year.”
     “No. I won’t allow visitors.”
     “It’s just my parents.”
     “No. Visitors don’t ever leave.”
     “My parents do. They have busy social lives. They don’t want to stay here.”
     “No. No visitors ever.”
     “They’re my parents.”
     “No. No exceptions.”
     Then, he finally admitted that he was unemployed. That might explain the whole minimalistic living thing. It was more out of necessity than principle.
     Don’t get me wrong, I believe there are times in one’s life where living in an apartment or a condo makes sense. I’m not at that point yet. I like the peace, quiet, and privacy of a house. No noise from upstairs or downstairs neighbors. I like independent living. Thank you, very much.

     My next suitor was a daredevil and a party animal. He was the most ruggedly handsome guy I had agreed to meet thus far. He entertained me with lots of stories about drinking, drugs, and death-defying feats. I could have done without some of the drinking and drug stories. However, the daredevil stories were fascinating. I was impressed he’d lived this long. But I am not looking for Evil Knievel.

     The gentleman who followed was the polar opposite of Mr. Knievel. He was nice, polite, and conservative. But he was as boring as they come. I do not go on dates to hear myself talk. I want the guy to tell me about himself, engage in a conversation. How can I get to know someone if he does not speak? He was the king of awkward silences. Check, please!

     Next up was a bachelor who had interesting ideas concerning food. He was thinking about becoming a vegetarian. That’s fine with me, although, I would not become one myself. Granted, I do not eat a lot of meat. But every once and awhile, I need a nice juicy steak!
     As the conversation progressed, he said, “If we live together, you can’t have chocolate or sweets in the house.”
     Wait. What? I can’t have chocolate in my own house?
     I pictured myself sneaking out of the house under the cover of darkness. I would wear a black trench coat and escape to a clandestine meeting with a perfect, medium-cooked filet mignon and a warm, gooey, decadent chocolate dessert.
     My car’s glove box would be under lock and key. I would have installed a temperature controlling device to prevent my Hershey’s bars (with almonds) from becoming misshapen melted blobs. Oh the humanity!

     Lest I forget, let me throw in a not-so-random observation. Fall must be the time of year for men to be exhausted and take mandatory naps. Three, count them, three different guys fell asleep during dates while watching movies. I am not referring to a quick head nod. I am talking about deep sleep, complete with snoring. Hard to discuss the movie afterward when one of us slept through it. Anyway…

     Late in the year, I thought I had finally found “The One.” He was everything I had dreamed about and prayed for. He was good-looking, kind, fun-loving, generous, and financially secure, among other things. And did I mention he was hot? God had finally answered my prayers.
     I liked his kids, and they liked me. And I quote, “She is the best one we’ve ever met.”
     High praise coming from a teen and pre-teen. When they hugged me, they meant it. They were not giving me the “I’m being forced to hug you” type of hugs. They were great kids. Everything was picture perfect.
     The two of us went on a vacation. It was fantastic, and we had a great time. Or so I thought.
     A few days after we returned, he called me on the phone and broke up with me. Just like that. Out of the blue. No indication of any issue or problem prior to the phone call.
     He said, “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t say or do anything wrong. It’s me. I haven’t been in a relationship in a long time. I thought I was ready. But I’m not. I’m sorry.”
     Stunned and dumbfounded, I asked, “Do you want to slow things down and not see each other as much?”
     His answer was plain and simple. “No. I just want to end it. I’m sorry.”
     I will spare you the crying details and the amount of Kleenex I went through.
     So, here I sit with a broken heart. Again.

     As I mentioned in the beginning, this was intended to be the last article in my dating series. I completely cancelled my Match membership because we had discussed marriage.
     I apologize to you, dear readers. There’s no way for me to make the last section funny and entertaining. Because it’s not.
     However, I am choosing to look at the bright side. The relationship was wonderful while it lasted. And I got a really great vacation out of it.
     So, I will leave you with the words of Alfred Lord Tennyson: “‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

Copyright © 2016 by Suzanne Purewal

It’s Hard to Be Arm Candy

     Welcome to the next installment of “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched.” Today’s story involves a bachelor about whom you have already read. I believed he was worth a second chance. However, that chance was short-lived. It was nice while it lasted.
     In life, timing is everything. Right now, he admitted his schedule is not conducive to dating. That is a gross understatement. And so, he broke my already-wounded heart.
     I will not say anything bad about him. He is a great guy, and he apologized. We are still friends. So this article is more about my experience at this party than about him.
     I never revealed to him how I felt. So, it might surprise him if he reads this. As the saying goes, if you don’t have something nice to say, then don’t say anything at all. But, hell, I write a blog, so I have to write something!
     This bachelor and I attended a large social function together. The food was fantastic, and the live band was really good.
     As the event progressed, everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. Everyone except for me, that is.
     Let’s say this event was industry-specific. And honestly, it is a field in which I have little interest. Normally, I would make small talk. That’s easy enough to do, right? People are people. Lord knows I can talk about anything. However, the other attendees were not into small talk. They were laser-focused on their field. Period.
     When I was introduced to people, they seemed disinterested since I was not part of their “inner circle.” The only question I received from a few of them was, “Do you have any children?” When I answered, “No,” that was the end of the conversation. Seriously. End of conversation. They turned to engage someone else in a discussion. Time is money. Money is time.
     What planet am I on that the only question anyone wants to ask me is that one? I have no children. Ergo, I am not worth talking to. Yikes!
     I have a lot to offer, thank you, very much. I have plenty to say and have a myriad of great stories, just ask me something else. Anything else!
     I felt as if I had developed a superpower instantaneously—I became totally invisible! Since I did not add any perceived value, I was not worth their time.
     Mind you, I had an opinion of what they were discussing, but since I was not a player, my opinion would not have mattered. So, I kept my mouth shut. Picture that if you can.
     For some time, I smiled and paid attention to the discussion. However, as time wore on, I surrendered. I allowed my mind to wander as I smiled and nodded at what seemed appropriate times.
     I watched a child torment a bug in the grass. I saw an older man nod off, only to have his wife poke him and wake him up. I watched one of the waiters fill cups of lemonade and iced tea and line them up on a table. He dutifully replaced them when a guest would walk off with one. There were twenty-one cups. I wondered why he did not choose an even number.
     I spotted a trail that went off into a wooded area. I desperately wanted to slip away and explore where the path led. But I decided that would be in bad form. Instead, I remained glued to my seat.
     Then, I counted the tent poles and estimated the tent to be approximately 1300 ft x 40 ft. I did not hazard a guess on height because of the varying heights from the edges to the center. If I had a pen and paper, I might have been able to figure it out mathematically. Not. I was not that bored!
     In all of my forty-six years, this is the first time I have ever been excluded to the point that I felt like arm candy.
     Good Lord, being arm candy is a tough job! I had no idea! And I didn’t even suffer through a boob job, tanning sessions, liposuction, or Botox injections.
     As a child, my parents always told me I could do anything. Well, I learned in first grade that I would never be a gymnast or an athlete of any kind. Obviously, over the years, I discovered other things I could not or would not do. Being arm candy just got added to the list. Pole dancer is on that list too. But I will save that story for my next blog article.

Copyright © 2015 by Suzanne Purewal