It occured to me the other day that not once in my adult life have I walked hand-in-hand with a woman through an airport. (I guess I must have done so in wedlock—those 8,216 days tend to blend together), but…even if…well, certainly not since. I shared this with the poker game.

“Never?”, questioned Maryanne, her interest clearly piqued.
“I don’t think so.”

At that point I thought the conversation might become an inventory of past interactions, failed relationships, or possibly ladies or circumstances overlooked. But no, the talk turned neither warm nor fuzzy.

“You’re lonely. That’s your problem.” She diagnosed as she shuffled. “That is why you sleep with the lights and TV on. Admit it.”

“Not so.”

Then Terry in her Nawleans accent chimed in: “Hey it is HUGE to be able to sleep with the lights on. Are you kidding?”

T’s sanguine husband Bob protested: “It’s abnormal.”
Back to the dealer: “You’ve got to stop dating whack jobs.”
“She’s right,” said Terry; my comrade was bailing on me. “Enough of this crap about a woman with an edge. Time to get real.”

“But most women bore me…I like a woman with an edge…”
“________ the edge,” said Maryanne. Still pushing: “Don’t you think you deserve someone balanced?”
Bob looked up again: “And it would help if they could read!”

Terry’s diagnosis was different: “You’re just too picky! And that’s OK.”
She hesitated then concluded: “And why SHOULDN’T you be?”

“Jewish girls want guys with money.” I was clearly in a defense posture.
“Not so. At this point,” comforted Maryanne, “They want what everyone wants…to be treated nice.”
“And money,” added Terry.

The cards were cold and the conversation was not fun. It felt like Carl Jung was giving me an enema.

“All I said was it would be nice to hold someone’s hand in an airport.”
Maryanne: “And all I said was that you’re lonely.”
Terry: “And what’s WRONG with that?”
“Come to think of it,” I added, “I’ve never gone out with a girl wearing a bright white peasant dress, like a sun dress. I love the look.”
“Try ‘Just Lunch'”, offered Maryanne.
“JDate,” countered Terry.
“Deal the cards, ” said Bob.
And we did.


  1. Aunt Helen says:

    How about a mature woman who wears oversized sunglasses?

  2. Margie says:

    Aunt Helen, I think we are talking about a woman who is emotionally mature, not about her chronological age. And I know where you are going with this. Stay out of it.

  3. JS says:

    Holding hands is for homos

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