Blind Date Flashback number 1

I've had many blind dates and first dates during my single years.  Since I've been married twice, I refer to them as single 1 and single 2. My first marriage is the dividing point.

 

This blind date occurred during  single 1.  I was perhaps 22 or 23.  I was living in the apartment in Park Slope. The one I posted about my first Christmas tree.  Since I couldn't get a teaching job because they'd all been filled by young men who didn't want to go to Vietnam, I ended up working at a dress manufacturer in the Garment District in Manhattan.  Me and the Garmentos. Oy. What a match.

Why printed pix are nice to have. Me at work.

 

The year was 1972 or 1973.  I was part of the disillusioned, disappointed discouraged generation that is referred to as the Baby Boomers.  

 

I had never gone full hippy. I didn't drop out, move out or stop shaving my arms and legs. A shiver just ran thru me. It was really gross. One thing you do not want to see in the summer is a woman with dark hair with braided armpits and what might look like Uggs.

 

Still, I embraced the values that were not those of my parents. I know. You're asking "What happened on the date Can't you ever get to the point?". Fine. You're right. But things don't make sense without background.  Haven't you heard about character development and setting the scene? Sheeesh. Alright already. Back to the story.

 

THE PHONE CALL

A friend set me up. I don't remember the set ups name, but he was a business man, so I'll call him Suit. (And if he looked like any of the men on the show suits, well this story would be different. Except for Lewis. Him, I met)  

 Suit called me and we were having a conversation on the of phone. You know the type of phone.  It has a wire that goes into the wall. It has only one kind of ring and to make it even more primitive, it was before we even had answering machines.  I suppose that lent some mystery life.  All you knew was how the person sounded. Let me say, that there is no connection to  the voice and imagination. No one ever looked like he sounded. On the plus side, no one was sending you photos of his junk.

 

The part of the conversation I recall, was him inviting me to Miami for the weekend. He had to go there for business (of the monkey kind?) and he wanted to take me. I thanked him, but said that I didn't think it was a good idea, since we hadn't met yet and might not, how did I put it?  Get along?

His response was that it was only two days, how bad could it be.  I thanked him again and said no. Several times. He was persistent. Maybe he was in sales or a lawyer.

 

Instead,  we made a date for dinner after he got back. 

 

A Little more background to set the stage    This is important. It's part of the character development. 

 

I was taking an adult education class that had something to do with Marxism and Capitalism. I had just read Wages, Price and Profit by Karl Marx, and I had to admit, he made sense. Actually, some of what he wrote that I remember, still does.

 

I was not particularly materialistic then and was very happy to able to wear jeans and tees all the time. Even to work, because I was behind the scenes. That was pretty much it for my wardrobe. Even if my roommate dressed better than I, she weighed over 300 pounds, so borrowing something to wear wasn't in the cards.

 

The date

 

Suit picked me up on his way home from work. He was wearing a very nice suit, and a Rolex. His Mercedes was double parked outside. I don't know how I know these things. He must have slid them into the conversation. I knew that they were very expensive, but at the time, I wasn't impressed.

 

I had gotten dressed in the best I could throw together; a dungaree skirt and a long sleeved, scooped neck top. It was like the old leotards that had snaps in the crotch so you could pee, and they didn't ride up. The shit I remember amazes me.  *(AD)  What I need to remember, like what happened to my rose gold chain and little heart charm - lost in space. Or hopefully somewhere in the house. I'm still looking.

 

I do not know why I didn't just go out and leave with him when he arrived, but we sat on the sofa in the living room. Maybe I wanted to talk a little before we left. I mean, I didn't know him from Adam.

 

I don't remember what we were talking about, but no doubt I brought up something about he didn't like.  What I remember was him calling me "little lady." The first time he did I was surprised. I responded, my name is G.

We kept on conversing and he called me little lady again. Again, I told him my name is G.  The third time it happened, and I corrected him, he told me that it was very annoying and I should stop doing that. I told him that being called little lady was very annoying and if he stopped doing that, I wouldn't have to be annoying.

 

As you may have guessed. That was when we decided to part company. He left and I didn't. I can't remember what I felt. Perhaps disappointed since I really did want to find a boyfriend. At least that's what I believed.

 

I told my Dad the story. And he asked the only pertinent question. "Did you think he was attractive?"  I had to be honest. He wasn't bad, but no. Whatever my type was, he wasn't.  So dad said if he was, I'd have gone and not pulled the shit I had.  Much to my shame, he was right. It still would have been a disaster because our views would still have clashed, but I'd have at least given him a chance.  Point. Women are as shallow as men. But as they say, it is better to give than to receive and I'd been on the receiving end of that situation more often than I care to think about.

Is he hot or not?

 

HOW THIS POST CAME TO BE

 

I started to write a post that just wasn't coming together. This brought me back to when I was just out of college. Now I have to try to trace back to where this new thought started.  I often have to. You've probably noticed that staying on topic is hard for me, so I really have to be able to trace back or I'd never get anything accomplished.

 

TRACING THE THOUGHT

 

I was thinking about the current ridiculosity (I just made that up) of being Politically Correct.  It brought me back to the days of early feminism.  *(ad) I have avoided saying how old I am, because I'd like to think it's only a number.(DENIAL) . You already know that  I hate my scale, but at least that can go in either direction. Age, well it just keeps on going up. So, in case you've wondered, I'm 66.   I was smack dab in the middle of a lot of "happenings."

 

 What is so strange is that now it's called history. If any of you who are reading these are young,(whatever that may be)  you might want to consider that you too will be a part of history.  A little advice. What you do now, may someday be  considered a pivotal event. While you're doing it, you just think you're living your life. You and your cohorts or generation or whatever "they" decided to call your generation.

 

We boomer thought we were hot shit. We were going to change the world for the better. We were going to bring peace and love to this planet.

 

We did some good, but we also screwed up.