Maybe I should have worn the blue top instead of the black. It shows off my purple rose tattoo. Hmmm, too late now. Hope I put enough deodorant on. Oh well, the Shalimar should diffuse any odor. Six minutes to seven. Why did I get here so early? This mirror is so damn small I can hardly see my eyeliner. And my eyes are so itchy, but I can’t rub. Did I bring liner with me? Yeah, here it is. Yes, that’s better. And my hair-- oh god, it’s frizzed already. Was my mother’s hair this frizzy? Can’t remember. Died so long ago. Yes, I think it was. Must have come from a long line of Hasidic. Anyway, it look’s better like this—pinned up with this butterfly clip I picked up in Macys. Imagine— sixteen dollars for a hair clip? Good thing I had a coupon.
Oh, I just can’t believe I’m actually doing this—again! Though it’s been over a year. A year on that loser site: CATCH MATCH. I think I’ve been on them all. Anyway, he did sound nice on the phone. Although he didn’t ask any questions. Talked mostly about himself. What was his name again? Motor59. What the hell does that mean? Oh shit, I’ve got a chipped nail. Just did them this afternoon and didn’t bring the polish with me. Look at this—my hands are shaking. Calm down, girl. It’s only a freakin’ blind date. Probably a big bore. That’s how it usually goes. “Oh, how long were you married? Any children? Two--boys and a girl, how nice.” And then a pause. “Oh, by the way, I’m divorced too—with twin girls in college.” And I wait. Aren’t you going to ask something—anything? Don’t you want to know about my divorce, how my beloved almost killed me, trying to strangle me with his tie? How I had a breakdown and walked around on Valium and Prosac for almost six months? Oh, you don’t really need that much information? Want to know if it’s going to rain tomorrow or if I saw the new cell phone ad from Verizon? Oh, stop it now! You don’t really know how it’s going to go…always the pessimist. Calamity Jane! Yeah, that’s what my grandma always called me. Should I let him pay for dinner? No, not on the first date. Pay for it myself—like a woman who takes out the garbage, fixes the stopped up toilet, even kills the bugs.
Oh shit, I think I’ve got an eyelash in my eye. I can’t see anything in this damn mirror. It’s five after seven. If I go to the ladies room, I’ll probably miss him coming in. Just keep blinking. There, I think it’s gone. Can’t rub because I’ll smudge my liner. Well, 7:15. Looks like he’s not the punctual type. Well, that’s good, probably means he’s an Aries or Sagittarius. They’re sort of free-spirited. Not like that Taurus I was married to. Used to check the garbage just to see if I threw away something that might, god forbid, still be good—like an old sock with only one hole, a milk container with one gulp. Oh, here comes the waiter. Hmmm, not bad looking. A bit on the young side, though.
“Yes, I will have another drink, thank you. The same and no ice, please.” Why do they always put ice in when you say no ice? Well, it’s almost 7:25. Maybe he forgot, but we just spoke this morning, said he couldn’t wait to meet me. Guess I’ll wait until 7:40 before I admit I’ve been stood up on a blind date. I suppose that’s not the worst—not like he knew me and then didn’t come.
Oh wait, someone’s coming in. Well, if that’s him he’s certainly not six foot. More like five foot six. A little on the paunchy side too, but he does have dirty blonde hair. And that sweater. I don’t believe it—emerald green. What the f— it’s not St. Patty’s day is it? Look at the jeans—charcoal gray and white sneakers. Oh god, he’s coming over.
“Hi, are you Jeanette—you know from Catch Match?”
“Oh, no, you must be mistaken. My name’s Carol and I’ve never been on Catch Match.”
“Really, you sort of look like her but pictures can be deceiving.”
“Yes, definitely so. Well, I was just leaving. Hope you find who you’re looking for.”
Looking puzzled, he waves.
Whew, am I glad to get the hell outta there. Maybe I can catch a movie I haven’t seen yet on one of the 300+ cable channels. Maybe I can bring this stupid clip back if I can find the receipt. Shit, I never paid the check. Oh well, Mr. Motor59, thanks for the drinks.