We met at a winery where I was dancing to live music on a Saturday afternoon. A guy came up and joined me, saying, “I like the way you dance.”
I had just told my girlfriend on the drive to Mare Island that I wasn’t good at closing the deal when a guy seemed interested, as in, getting a plan to meet up again.
Margo rushed over to join us, and by the time the band was done playing, she made sure the guy had given me his phone number.
At my age, this is huge. It’s not like my twenties where guys were asking me out weekly. I am an old lady!
So two weeks later, after my singing engagements were done, I texted him, reminding him that the band we had danced to was playing on the 22nd in Pleasanton. We texted for hours, him telling me that he had come down with strep throat after sitting in a dermatologist’s waiting room filled with infectious teenagers prone to acne. I’d had the colonoscopy from hell the day before the band’s gig, and he admitted that he wasn’t feeling so good. We decided to postpone our meet-up.
The next week was Christmas, and he was off to see relatives while I stayed here and hosted a dinner for ten.
The next week, he let me know that he was on his second round of antibiotics to get rid of the strep. We wished one another a happy New Year, and I went to my planned event.
The next week, he texted to tell me he had gotten pneumonia. I reminded him that the same band would be in Walnut Creek in two weeks on the 18th, but he told me he had Elton John tickets for that night.
Sometimes the universe doesn’t want something to happen.
“Oh, okay,” I texted. “Maybe after that?”
“I’m going to India for three weeks to meditate, do yoga, and live in an ashram.”
Either the guy doesn’t want to see me again, or I don’t know what. I can barely remember what he looks like.
So much for closing the deal.
Anyway, he said he loved many of the songs from Elton John’s album, Goody-bye, Yellow Brick Road, that he discovered when he was ten. I was a freshman in college the year that album came out. Maybe the universe is telling me, “You are too old for this guy, anyway.”
It’s a compliment when guys come up to tell me they like the way I dance. Maybe I’ll have to get a shirt that says, “Thank you, but full disclosure, I am sixty-three.”