I’m still working on my best-selling book about online dating for widows and widowers and I thought how I can write a book on online dating if I’ve never been on an online date? Sometimes I’m a genius that way. I was texting with four different guys from Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming, three cowboys and a tractor salesman. The cowboys were flirty and fun, teasing me and all wanted to meet me. The tractor salesman offered me a ride on his brand-new John Deere, but most tractors have only one seat, and I figured he was thinking about hanky-panky, so left him off my wanna-meet-list. The Montana guy who asked me the three questions about swimming, having a passport, and going to France was still on the list and he and I spent a good amount of time chirping back and forth. One day, I toughened my spine and said, “It’s time to meet,” and he said, “Yippee.” A good cowboy answer, I think.
As you know, I’m a Marine, and pretty solid in my inboard rules and regulations, and decided to set the standards for our proposed date. The most important rule is, “No means no.” But I also added that we should meet halfway between our homes (Idaho Falls), have an early dinner (5 p.m.) which would give me plenty of time to escape, if need be, reserve two rooms (note TWO), and go Dutch. I used a one-use credit card and notified all my neighbors and my daughter and was later told that somebody activated the GPS on my phone. My neighbor promised to call me at 7 to make sure I was okay…although two hours surely would be time enough to axe murder me, if that was his plan.
I arrived at 4:45, always early and sat outside the Sandpiper Restaurant looking around. Fifteen minutes to wait. He claimed to drive a candy-apple red Mustang, which sounded fun. He said he was going to kiss me as soon as he arrived so I should pucker up. I wasn’t really in a puckering mood, more like a vigilant high school principal, watching the clock for the kids who were consistently tardy, and thinking about PDA, public display of affection. My mind was a dither.
About a dozen red cars had arrived by now, and still no blue-eyed cowboy. His name was Robert…maybe he was Cowboy Bob. I would know for sure if he showed up.
I have no patience and hate waiting, and I don’t wait more than fifteen minutes for anything. Did that mean I should leave at 5 or should I give him nine hundred more seconds until 5:15? Another thing to think about. My phone buzzes and I have a text…from Robert. “I’ll be a few minutes late,” he says.
I text back, “How late?” figuring I could leave now and avoid getting stood up.
Now my fancy watch read 5:12 and told me it was time to stand. I stood up and once more scanned the street and parking lot and sighed. Stood up, that’s the story of my life. I moved toward my car when I heard a car honk. A Mustang convertible. Convertible? He didn’t say a Mustang convertible. It was red with the top down, and it pulled up to the back bumper of my car and stopped. This guy with a cowboy hat got out of his car, walked over to me, and smiled. “Good to see you again, Gail,” and planted one on me. “Yippee!” Eyes are wide open now.
If you enjoy Wrinkly Bits, please share. Gail’s books Cruise Time, Out of Time, Wasting Time, and Bits of Time are available on her website gailcushman.com
