She came up to me at the end of class, congratulated me on how well I’d done, and then said, “I have a personal question for you.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Are you dating someone? Or married? Or single?”
“I’m single,” I said, realizing where this was going.
“Well, I promise you I was paying attention to what you were teaching, but I couldn’t help thinking the whole time that you would be good for James. He rents from me. How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking.”
“Oh, good. He’s thirty-four. Would you….” She stumbled a bit over what to do next, but I knew how this went. After all, I’d been in this same position just three weeks before. And told her as much.
I handed her my card and said, “Feel free to give him my contact information, and tell him he’s welcome to call me.”
The next day she called to see if I had plans for Easter, would I want to come to her place? I was sick and had already turned down two other invitations, so declined hers as well. She offered that she’d have me over another time. I wonder if this was her way of making the connection. I imagine not all men would jump at the chance to call a woman they’ve never met before to ask her out, sight unseen. Though, now that I think about it, the one three weeks ago did just that.
Maybe it’s because it’s spring. Or because I look like I’m in need of a good man. Or because my genes are too good not to pass on (yes, someone told me this. I took it as a compliment). Whatever their reason, I’m fine with good-intentioned people expressing an interest in setting me up. I’ve heard dating is a numbers game. Just how many first dates does one need to go on is a question I wish I knew the answer to.