The Pursuit -- Chapter 2

Without adequate sleep, I logged on the site the next morning.  OMG…he’d responded with “Interest.”  Now what?  Do I email him?  No, I don’t want to appear desperate.  I’ll wait for another day.  But what if he decides to look for someone else?  In the end, I emailed him after lunch via the website. 

 Hi, I saw your profile and…

Hello, my name is…

Hi, wanna get together?

Finally I nervously typed:  Hi, I thought your profile looked interesting and wondered if you’d like to get acquainted?

That evening an email came through.  He lived in a town not far from me; had been a teacher; retired a couple of years; and divorced.  Then he asked if he could call.

I really didn’t want to rush things, but in the end I sent my phone number.  We made an appointment for a call the following day.

With just a few minutes of shyness, our conversation took off and seemed quite comfortable.  We discussed the weather, what kinds of food we enjoyed, a bit about our careers, and then decided to meet. The following Saturday.  Lunch at Sea View—a restaurant with no ocean view but paintings of waves on the wall that made one nauseous while eating...OK, I shouldn’t have agreed to a restaurant I wasn’t particularly crazy about, but I didn’t want to appear picky at the onset.

Ten minutes before leaving the house, I was still plucking those ½ inch facial hairs that grow overnight and continue on to one inch by nightfall.  A last look in the mirror—hmmm, wonder how good his eyesight is?

As I approached—seeing a red rose on the table—I noticed his eyes scanning me head to foot.  He had a nice smile.  No obvious nose hairs.  Clean fingernails.  No white socks—I checked after I sat down by pretending to drop my napkin.

We ordered.  When our plates came, I saw a slight hesitation on his part before picking up his fork—was he checking out the food; is he a germ freak? 

We small-talked until about ½ way through the meal when he put his fork down, looked straight at me, and said calmly,  “I can see that we make a great team.  But I want you to know that I have one requirement before I can commit to any woman.”

Great team? Requirement? Commitment?  What the hell?  I hadn’t finished checking out his table manners!

He went on, “I am a born-again Christian, and need to know if you’ve accepted Jesus as your personal savior.  In other words, are you saved?”

Saved?  From what?  I was saved from drowning once when I was a kid—understandable fear of water has followed me through my entire life—but I was saved at the time.

“Alvin—I really should have questioned that name at the beginning but it reminded me of that cute chipmunk—I haven’t really researched the question of reincarnation, so I don’t know if I’ve been born again or will be when I leave this life.”

He looked at me with a startled expression.  “You believe in reincarnation?”

“No, I didn’t say that…”

He interrupted.  “Do you want to go to hell?”

“Well, actually, I think a good number people on planet Earth are living in hell right now due to…”

Again he interrupted.  “Don’t you understand that I am serious?”

“Yes, I think I do.  I too am serious.  We are not a team, there is no commitment, and my requirement is to stay away from the likes of your requirement.”  At that point I reached for my purse, got up, walked past our waitress, plopped a $20 bill in her hand and left the restaurant.

To be continued...