Early this morning, I finally gave up trying to sleep at 4:00 am and trailed my tired tush into the office. I remembered then that one of my many on-line dating contacts once explained her 2:00 am message to me thusly, “Oh that? I was just up in the night for a ‘pee and a see-who-loves-me’.” In truth, I haven’t been checking PoF regularly. Moreover, my profile is hidden from all but those whom I look at, and I have either stopped or at least slowed my looking – I’m not sure which. In ways, on-line dating is like a mature version of, “If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” In this case however, it is not at all Anthony Weinerish. It is just shared pictures of faces, descriptions of interests, goals, etc. But the gals can’t see mine until I’ve had a close look at theirs.

I’m slowing or stopping the search because I have cause to believe that I could find happiness with one of the four women with whom I am currently communicating outside the anonymity-protected, PoF-buffered platform. Okay, so I can’t sleep well at night. I usually get a solid four hours of sleep before awakening and that was true last night too.

But then, after I checked my e-mail and replied to it, I didn’t bother checking the PoF site, nor my ski group, nor my walking group. I just crawled back into bed and hoped for the best. I got the best!

I just rested without expectation of actually sleeping, but later awoke having had the following wonderful dream:

I was walking in the cold, through heavily falling snow, on the lee side of some storefronts as darkness was beginning to descend. I was bundled for the experience of walking outside in such inclement weather. A woman, similarly bundled, head down, was walking toward me along the same narrowly shovelled path. The street and walk seemed otherwise unoccupied. From what I could see of her, she looked quite attractive in an age-appropriate way for me. She was nicely dressed, and she moved with an easy grace considering the challenging conditions.

Each of us used our snow-limited vision to sense the proximity of the other and began judging how we might pass by each other on the narrow path with non-tactile decorum. I stood sideways and stopped walking. She attempted to step slightly to one side as she walked by me but she slipped on some ice and began to fall. Instinctively, I reached out to her to try to keep her from falling, but I too, slipped and began falling backward.

POOF! Into a nice, soft, forgiving snowbank we fell, me on my puffy, garment-cushioned back and her kerplunk on top of me! Full-body to full-body. No harm done at all but there was lots of alarm. “Are you okay?” we said to each other simultaneously. Then we laughed at ourselves and at our situation. She didn’t scramble to get up. I didn’t move to encourage her to do so.  I loved having her full weight upon me.

It all seemed a matter of timing. What was it? Two seconds, three seconds? Whatever the length of time, our delay in de-coupling suggested to me to say something bold. I said, “You know, this feels much better to me than scurrying along a sidewalk trying not to slip.” She still didn’t rise. I quickly asked, “Are you married?” We looked deeply into each others’ eyes. She was beautiful and she wasn’t recoiling at the sight of me, nor was she moving to get away from me. She replied to my question, saying simply, “I am not.”

Her delay in escaping prompted my further boldness. I don’t know why I did this but I suddenly tapped one of my few words in Italian as I said, “Permesso,” then kissed her tenderly on the lips. She returned my kiss with lingering, tender passion that quickly turned into an urgency born of mutual lust. I knew I had found the woman for me.


I wish the dream had gone on from there but it didn’t. I awoke, glad to have dreamed anything at all but especially happy to have had that particular dream.

One of the many women from my past once laid an accusatory comment upon me by saying, “I think you’re addicted to romance.” I don’t think I am, but if I were, I’d say, “Perhaps ….. and is that a problem?” I think my too frequently occurring relationship devastations (twice in the last 50 years) cause a deep yearning within me that finds its expression where it will. Many women quickly judge such bald-faced expression of desire to be “needy” and they avoid it like they’d avoid a private, personal meeting with Trumpinocchio, if for no other reason than the ‘principle’ of the thing.

Just like the lie of “Love Story” from my youth – “Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” (try that one out when you go to couples’ counselling), many of today’s women have completely fallen for the lie of Eat, Pray, Love. They believe that true love with a man is to have him available when she wishes him to be and to be gone, not troubling her, when she wishes that to be the case. (Men fantasize about such things too, only they call the rental women “prostitutes.”)  I have to wonder if women caught up in the Eat, Pray, Love lie have really thought things through beyond the brief interlude of intense love that the book described. There’s a nitty-gritty of living that happens too. Just like my dream, an episode of intense, romantic passion does not make a relationship. A relationship is work as well as pleasure. If both parties work to make it as pleasurable as possible, I think they’d be on the right track.