Fortunately, I’m past those that deal with dating, on-and-off relationships, and other unsure bets. I am the embodiment of the line from When Harry Met Sally, “Promise me I’ll never be out there again.”
Especially given some of the strange rituals that accompany the process these days. Speed-dating? Really?
Apparently you sit with a person of whichever sex interests you for a very brief period of time—as in minutes—and try to learn enough about the other person to determine if he or she might be worth more time (apparently if that other person has the same opinion of you).
Imagine my horror when I realized that having two teenagers at home is just like speed-dating my wife. We have five minutes in the morning before we each head in different directions.
“When did you say Katie’s trip was?”
“Did I hear something about a soccer tournament for Adam?”
“I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
“Wait, did you pay the credit card bill?”
“No you call me, maybe we can do lunch.”
I’m going to go down to the office supply store and get a couple of those “Hello, My name is:” stickers, and a letter of introduction from some high and lofty personage, and see if that….
Ooops, sorry, gotta run.