Wednesday, June 15, 2005


David Bogner’s post concerning Blind Dates got me to reminiscing about one memorable blind date from years past…

A well-meaning friend had given me a young lady’s phone number several months prior. The young lady was the roommate of a friend of a friend, a native Texan recently graduated from college and freshly ensconced in Sweat City. But because I was already Hooked Up, so to speak, the slip of paper with said number languished in my billfold like a condom in a nerd’s wallet, unused.

As the New Year approached, my relationship with Existing Girlfriend went south in a big hurry. Perhaps this bitch sweet young thing realized that there was no long term prospect for the two of us – whatever the reason, it became apparent that I was going to be left high and dry at New Year’s. Shit.

Then I remembered the scrap of paper with the mysterious phone number.

Seeing as how it was a scant few days before the turn of the year, there was no way in hell I was going to call that number cold. So I checked with my well-meaning friend, who did a little sniffing around. Lo and behold, it turns out that the young lady had just broken up with her boyfriend. Why, if this wasn’t kismet, what was?

So I screwed my courage to the sticking post, as it were, called the young lady up, and asked her out on a New Year’s Eve Blind Date. What cojones! What chutzpah!

Amazingly, the young lady accepted. We agreed to meet at a neutral location (a friend’s place) at a party, so if things didn’t work out each of us could beat a hasty retreat.

Came the fateful day, and I showed up at the appointed place. Rang the doorbell, and tried to avoid shitting myself from Nervous Tension.

The door opened, and my heart sank. I was greeted by a vision in Electric Orange Hair and way too much eye makeup, with hefty-sized (but slightly droopy) kalamatunis. Two trains of thought left the station simultaneously: (1) Gawd, this woman is vaguely sleazy looking, and (2) at least it looks like I may be Getting Lucky tonight.

Men are such pigs, am I right?

But then the Orange-Haired Vision said, “Oh, you must be Elisson – Miss X- is in the kitchen. Come on in.”

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed, but when I reached the kitchen and saw the young lady – my Blind Date – I decided I was relieved. Much, much nicer. Attractive without looking like a Cheap Slut. There was yet hope that the evening would not end up being a Fucking Disaster!

And, as it turned out, we had a very pleasant time. At some point during the proceedings, a bunch of us decided to take in a late showing of Monty Python and the Holy Grail at the local Bijou (I had already seen it twice, but who cared?). It was a testament to the young lady’s Willingness to Go Along with Stupid Shit that she appeared to enjoy the movie…at least, while she was awake.

The rest of the evening was spent in a marathon Bullshit Session, just talking the night away. Apparently, there was another Hopeful Suitor at this party who refused to leave, so I decided to wait him out. Eventually – at about 3 am – Mr. Fifth Wheel gave up and went off to crash somewhere. Boo-yah!

The two of us enjoyed the evening enough to justify another, no-longer-blind date. And another, after that.

And here it is, almost thirty years later, and we are still together. Yes, the young lady was She Who Would Eventually Become She Who Must Be Obeyed, and we have been married twenty-eight years.

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