I sit on the right aisle near the front of the cabin. A middle-age couple, (neither of whom is necessarily attractive) holds hands to my left. Arthur is five rows back.
There will be six of us out west. Lifelong friends. Rowland Elementary School. Greenview to Brush to OSU to……pushing sixty. Since puberty we have shared blood, sweat and tears. So we will laugh, and some of us may even cry. It will be good. I can’t help but wonder though, what it would be like to travel with a woman. One on one. Sharing not the past, but the present.
It occurred to me recently that I may indeed choose women the way Aunt Helen shops for tomatoes. A scary thought.
Roma tomatoes—98 cents/pound. Every other Friday it plays like this:.
“Not too hard. Not too soft.” she insists.
She’s not done.
“Not too big, not too small.” And, still:
“Not too round. Check for marks…did you really look?”
“NOT TOO ROUND?!!!!!” Give me a break!
Aunt Helen’s vision, however, is marginal. Over time my brother and I have learned that after feigning scrutiny of the legumes we should just dump seven random tomatoes in a bag and she’ll be satisfied.
I had a coffee date recently. Someone I met on JDate. She was 51, brunette, intelligent and smiled. Ed did a drive-by and confirmed that she was better looking for a woman than I am for a man.
But she missed. I passed. No magic.
What is wrong with me? Really!
As my father would remind me, I am “…No Tyrone Power.”” Still, it seems like I am trying to thread a needle when it comes to the ladies.
I love women with an “edge,” but frankly, nice would be nice (for a change).
Recently I dated a girl that was too nice. I got bored.
The question remains: what is wrong with me?
I hope I find the answer soon. Until then I will travel with the boys while Archie and Edith to my left hold hands.
And when I return I will be a bit more patient when my aunt buys her tomatoes.

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