Lesson #5 - Don't Go Anywhere Near Anything Calling Itself a "Singles Dance"
Okay, time for a new plan. I saw an ad in the paper for a "Singles Dance" at a place called "The Jukebox," on Friday night. I drove by it first, to check it out. It looked okay. Kind of a bar, restaurant, music place, in a decent neighborhood. Nothing to lose but my pride, I reasoned, so on Friday night I decked myself out in what I hoped was an attractive skirt, blouse and high heels (ugh) and placed myself on the meat market. I sat down at a table in a dimly lighted spot near the dance floor and ordered a Coke. I felt like a 40 year-old, nerdy teenager.
Much to my surprise, a youngish-looking guy came up and asked me to dance, before my Coke even arrived!
It was a slow dance, and he started talking, introducing himself and asking me various questions. "I'm Bob. What's your name?"
"How old are you?"
I was startled and annoyed by the impertinence of the question, so felt justified in lying. "Thirty-one." He seemed satisfied with that, and pulled me close to him as we continued dancing. Gradually, I became aware that he was leading us into a more brightly lit part of the dance floor. Then, he eased me away from him a bit and looked closely at my face.
"How old are you really?"
No, I didn't say, "Go fuck yourself, asshole!" But I wish I had. Instead, I excused myself, went back to the table to get my jacket, and drove home in a welter of tears.