Tangy Tomato #8
DWF, 60, seeks SM, 55-65, for possible LTR. Must love beagle bassets, scrabble, and swing dancing. Looking for someone who subscribes to the New Yorker, and whose dog gets along with mine.
“So? Mom, what do you think?” I ran to her shaking the newly crafted personal ad I had just written for her. (And already sent in to New York Magazine, without her knowledge).
The divorce had been really hard on her, and she wasn’t putting herself back out there, so I decided that I needed to take action.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She sighed.
She didn’t have the same energy after the custody battles and divorce proceedings.
“Well, like it or not, it’s appearing in New York magazine tomorrow!” I was excited. I had a new project.
The next day, the ad appeared. As did many others, all screaming to be noticed. I never imagined the one I placed for my mom would be.
A few days later, the phone calls started coming in. My mom had agreed to go on a few dates.
After the first date, she came back with stories of how weird the guy was. He had picked her up in his beat up ‘89 Buick Sedan and taken her to Hooters! Of all places! How could he think that was a good first date restaurant? Then he ordered pitchers of beer and wings and didn’t touch a bite. Needless to say, she was not going on a second date with him.
The next phone call seemed more promising, the guy sounded pleasant and this time my mom would only agree to meet for coffee, so as not to have to spend any more time than necessary if he was a disaster. And he was. This date was even worse than the first. He hadn’t even finished his non-fat, decaf, extra foam, no whip, one squirt of vanilla latte, when she politely excused herself.
More calls came in. My mom began avoiding the calls. “Please?” I begged her. I had started taking the calls for her. “I’ve had enough.” She replied.
The next day the phone rang again. “Um . . . hi.” A voice came over the phone. “I’m answering the personal ad you placed. It’s actually not for me, but for my friend.”
“Oh good! It’s not for me, either,” I replied, “I placed the ad for my mom.”
“Our friend Joe has been having a hard time lately. His wife passed away last year and we’re trying to get him back out there. He’s really wonderful but is kind of against this whole ‘personal ad’ thing, so I’m doing it for him.”
He sounded great. Just like my mom. She could survive a dinner with this guy.
“Oh, and I saw she swing dances.” The friend chimed in, “Joe does, too.”
Oh my god. How perfect!
“Um, so should we set up a dinner and swing dancing?” Mom was going to kill me.
“Sure. Tomorrow night?”
“Sounds great!”
I told my mom about Joe and her dinner and swing dancing date with him. She was less than thrilled, but agreed to go.
The next night before her date, she looked beautiful. In her flowy green skirt and matching ballet slippers, with her hair pulled back, she looked so natural and she was smiling!
I felt like the parent. Waiting anxiously up for their child after a big date. I paced nervously in the kitchen as hours passed. She’d be home by now if it hadn’t gone well, right? She’d have to be home by now. It must have gone well!
Later that night, my mom got home. It was the best date she’d been on in years.
Two years later, I stood beside my mom as her maid of honor when she married Joe.
“So? Mom, what do you think?” I ran to her shaking the newly crafted personal ad I had just written for her. (And already sent in to New York Magazine, without her knowledge).
The divorce had been really hard on her, and she wasn’t putting herself back out there, so I decided that I needed to take action.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She sighed.
She didn’t have the same energy after the custody battles and divorce proceedings.
“Well, like it or not, it’s appearing in New York magazine tomorrow!” I was excited. I had a new project.
The next day, the ad appeared. As did many others, all screaming to be noticed. I never imagined the one I placed for my mom would be.
A few days later, the phone calls started coming in. My mom had agreed to go on a few dates.
After the first date, she came back with stories of how weird the guy was. He had picked her up in his beat up ‘89 Buick Sedan and taken her to Hooters! Of all places! How could he think that was a good first date restaurant? Then he ordered pitchers of beer and wings and didn’t touch a bite. Needless to say, she was not going on a second date with him.
The next phone call seemed more promising, the guy sounded pleasant and this time my mom would only agree to meet for coffee, so as not to have to spend any more time than necessary if he was a disaster. And he was. This date was even worse than the first. He hadn’t even finished his non-fat, decaf, extra foam, no whip, one squirt of vanilla latte, when she politely excused herself.
More calls came in. My mom began avoiding the calls. “Please?” I begged her. I had started taking the calls for her. “I’ve had enough.” She replied.
The next day the phone rang again. “Um . . . hi.” A voice came over the phone. “I’m answering the personal ad you placed. It’s actually not for me, but for my friend.”
“Oh good! It’s not for me, either,” I replied, “I placed the ad for my mom.”
“Our friend Joe has been having a hard time lately. His wife passed away last year and we’re trying to get him back out there. He’s really wonderful but is kind of against this whole ‘personal ad’ thing, so I’m doing it for him.”
He sounded great. Just like my mom. She could survive a dinner with this guy.
“Oh, and I saw she swing dances.” The friend chimed in, “Joe does, too.”
Oh my god. How perfect!
“Um, so should we set up a dinner and swing dancing?” Mom was going to kill me.
“Sure. Tomorrow night?”
“Sounds great!”
I told my mom about Joe and her dinner and swing dancing date with him. She was less than thrilled, but agreed to go.
The next night before her date, she looked beautiful. In her flowy green skirt and matching ballet slippers, with her hair pulled back, she looked so natural and she was smiling!
I felt like the parent. Waiting anxiously up for their child after a big date. I paced nervously in the kitchen as hours passed. She’d be home by now if it hadn’t gone well, right? She’d have to be home by now. It must have gone well!
Later that night, my mom got home. It was the best date she’d been on in years.
Two years later, I stood beside my mom as her maid of honor when she married Joe.
posted by Eliza at 7:45 PM
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