ME & THE MORE MAN

My hair was dark brown then, almost black. It fell mid-neck in rolling, tousled waves. A dramatic contrast to my snowy, white skin, it wasn't unattractive. At age 50, I looked 32. During my younger, blonde years I was pretty enough to intimidate men from approaching me.

It was mid-summer 2001, just months before my father's death in October. I took Dad to the Medical Center for his blood work. Since there was usually a long wait, I brought the newspaper.

The man seated to my left, asked to see the section I had just finished. When I gave it to him, he pulled out a pen and began writing on it. Then he handed it back to me. -- He wanted a date. His name was "Ralph."

I was amused, and showed the paper to my father. He chortled, then smirked. Ralph and I began to talk. He had noticed me there before and thought I was quite a looker.

With hesitation, I gave him my name and phone number. I wasn't attracted to him, but I was depressed and eager for diversion.

I wondered aloud why he was there for blood work.

"Probably V.D.," Dad kidded.

Less than an hour after returning home, Ralph phoned. As we talked, I learned he was a retired contractor who lived in the next municipality to the south. He bragged of his house on the water overlooking mangroves. He was a Mormon who had 4 ex wives and 7 kids.

I've always felt that those who have had multiple divorces should get a clue that perhaps they're not marriage material!

I let him know that I was not interested in anything beyond a strictly platonic friendship. My father required constant attention due to illness. Also marriage just never interested me.

"But I want to get married again! And I have a good feeling about yooou," he cooed.

Ugh, didn't he hear anything I had just said! I could have sworn I felt my lips moving. I repeated my sentiments.

"Oh but I want to court you and change your mind," he declared.

I informed him I had no compunction about dropping men who pushed and pressured me.  He swore he wouldn't.

The Mormon was almost 70. At age 50, Ralph was only the 4th man I'd ever dated in my entire life. Two of the other three, I'd only dated once. In both instances, it was 1 time too many.

We made a date for lunch. I found a neighbor to tend Dad for the afternoon.

Ralph's car was a gaudy red vintage Lincoln Continental with fins. As we walked toward it, he paused to look me over. "You've lost weight!" he exclaimed.

"No, I'm the same weight as always," I replied.

"Well I'm attracted to your beautiful face," he responded.

What an idiotic thing to say to a woman who has never had a weight problem!  But I'd already tagged him as an insincere flatterer.

As we waited on a red light, I made conversation. Old Ralph turned and snarled, "Are you always this loud!" (I was stunned speechless.) Quickly he added, "Maybe because your father is so hard of hearing."

Geez, he could have phrased that more tactfully. Had he said, "Keep your voice down, I'm not as deaf as your father." I would have cracked up laughing. Unfortunately, he was so dour, I found him almost depressing to be around.

Ralph had heart problems and was allergic to poppy seeds.

He confessed he hated reading. And that he had never read a book the entire way through. I told him I was disappointed to hear that. I love to read. Also I had written several unpublished books.

He gave me a look as if to say, "What you? Come on!" -- I assured myself this would be our final date.

His eyes narrowed. "Are you a lesbian?" he asked. "I can't believe that a woman who looks like you has never been married. I'd a thought some guy would have scooped you up years ago."

"No, I'm not a lesbian in a sexual sense. But I enjoy the company of women more," I explained. "Perhaps it's because I was never close to my mother. Also I have too much emotional baggage. Men don't like that."

"They probably weren't strong enough. Well, I am a strong man," he crowed.

I noticed he did a lot of John Wayne swaggering and posturing during our date. He was a big fellow, over 6 ft tall. But he had that apple-on-a-stick body type which I find repulsive.

I repeated that I had no interest in a marriage. Also that I found most people to be disingenuous. And I knew plenty of women who married duplicitous men. The husbands were Prince Charming during the courtship and after marriage they became Mr. Hyde.

"Oh you won't get any surprises with me. I'm just what you see!"

That wasn't much, I thought.

"You need to think about the future," he told me sternly. "After your father's gone life's going to be really hard. You'll be alone!" he said that in a tone as if the Bogey man was going get me.

My female friends were far more empowering. They all told me to plan on encountering problems. But also added, it would be nothing I couldn't handle. One even warned, "If you marry Ralph, expect to be picking up another old man's poop in 10 years."

"You haven't yet seen what a great guy I can be," Ralph boasted.

What's stopping you? I wanted to scream in his face!

"I'm certainly glad I found you." He smiled. "There aren't many eligible women out there."

"Are you serious?" I replied. "Everywhere I go there seems to be almost as many single women as couples!"

"Yeah, but most of them aren't attractive," he said.

I felt my jaw drop. "Don't you own a mirror?!" I wanted to holler.

Two days later, he phoned and wanted to treat me to a matinee. I bit my lip. There was a film I really wanted to see. If I didn't go with Ralph, I'd have to wait and see it on TV, probably edited to pieces. Reluctantly, I agreed to another date. I'd tell him we're finished after the movie.

The same neighbor (a young mother) agreed to sit with my father for the afternoon.

"Hey," Dad piped up, "after Ralph brings you home, have him come in and fix the bathroom drain. I could do it myself if I was able to get down there."

"Egads, show me what to do, I'll repair it." I insisted. I knelt down and attempted to follow my father's instructions. "Damn!" It was no use, I would have to ask Ralph.

Before and after the movie, Ralph yammered constantly about why we should marry. Despite my arguments to the contrary, or my attempts to change the subject. Ugh!

"Don't you a least want to give it a try?" he asked enthusiastically.

Good grief, you try an hor d'oeuvre, not a marriage! Before the movie began, he walked me to the Ladies Room and waited outside. Geez, did he think I'd run away?

On the way home, he informed me he was a skilled cook. Also we'd have a maid twice a week. -- Had we actually married, he would be paying another woman for something else twice a week! Also I would be slipping him poppy seeds.

I had no intention of agreeing to marry a total stranger. The big mystery in my mind was how this guy ever persuaded 4 women to marry him in the 1st place.

Ralph agreed to repair the bathroom drain. -- But only for a hug and a kiss! I grit my teeth. As with most men, he had that quid pro quo mentality. A trait I detest! He lost one of the parts and had to drive to the hardware store.

I told my father I'd pay Ralph for the part, then I would call a plumber. -- I wasn't prostituting my lips for plumbing!

When I informed Ralph, he claimed he had been joking. He repaired the drain and left.

The next time he phoned, I told Ralph I wanted to end it. My father was dying and I didn't need any additional stress from him!  He did not appear surprised.

Fast forward to the day after Thanksgiving. Around 2:30 PM, I opened the front door to let out the cat. A bright red vehicle with fins caught my eye. I knew that car! I ran up to the landing out of curiosity. Since the street ended in a cul de sac, I knew I'd get another look.

I didn't have to wait long. The driver had turned before reaching the cul de sac. The car approached at a crawl. I looked closely at the driver. He was carefully scrutinizing my house. Ralph! He spotted me in the window. We made eye contact. The car awkwardly lunged forward. Dramatically it speed up! Hurriedly, he drove away. That was the last I saw of the Mormon.

As a child, when I fought with my mother, she'd scream, "When your husband beats you, don't come running home to us!" I often wondered if she battered me in preparation for marriage.

But my father never struck her, nor me. He wasn't the type! He had the cutting tongue with words that wound.

A few decades ago, I read that a 40 yr old spinster has as much chance of marrying as getting killed by terrorists. Still single at age 60, I probably have more chance of getting kidnapped by space aliens. I'm just saying, not complaining. Frankly I've had all the family I can stomach for one lifetime.

I think I dodged a bullet with Ralph. He dodged a howitzer.