Cricket guests on 'Friske Business'

Though I have not posted in more than a month and have cancelled the Internet show, it is not because I have not dated. But because I have been using my own three tips of dating (see 'Ghosts of dating past haunt the gym' post), there is little room for the remarkable stories. In dating and medicine, 'remarkable' is not necessarily a good adjective.
However, TOMORROW, Thursday, Dec. 15 at 3 p.m., Cricket will guest on 'Friske Business' along with comedian Paul Varghese at Deep Ellum on Air.
http://www.deepellumonair.com/friskebusiness.html
We will share unusual online dating profile photos and a few of my recent dating highlights: flowers, dimples and the text message moratorium.
Tune in to watch the show live and call 214-752-DEEP (3337) or send a chat message. The complete show will be available to watch throughout the week.

Ghosts of dating past haunt the gym

Last week Sylvia came over for dinner. She brought a beautiful flower bouquet and a hyper-active mind to talk about dating. She confessed that she’s been on Match.com for a couple months and was ready to give up. “Why?” I challenged.

She went into a litany of all the wrong men she is meeting and their quest for the second date. We strategized how to let them down easy if she wasn’t reciprocating their interest.

After drinks, appetizers, the main course and clearing the table of the last dish, Sylvia looked me squarely in the eye and asked, “What are your three tips for online dating?”

Befuddled, I paused to understand why she was asking me.

I met Sylvia almost three years ago at a Texas Hold’em party at a common friend’s house in Oak Cliff. We immediately bonded as she was from the Ukraine, and I had lived in Eastern Europe for some time. But most importantly, we had both recently ended relationships with our hearts broken.

Sylvia knew of 'The Big D's' blog and that I recently started a weekly show at Deep Ellum On Air about dating (www.deepellumonair.com/thebigds.html). I tried to explain to her that the Internet is free and that my show does not constitute me to be an expert. Nevertheless, friends give friends advice, especially when demanded, so I conceded.

Today I was working out at my gym during lunch time, and so were three men whom I have dated who illustrate each tip:

1.      Have fun. As soon as I approached the elliptical machines, I saw Jim. Jim and I sent a few messages to each other through Match.com, but it was because of common friends’ high regard for Jim that I made the effort to meet him earlier this year. Our first date was five hours. From Spanish tapas to Malbec wine, we crisscrossed Cole Avenue.

Jim is intelligent and has a similar educational background. He has been divorced for a few years and is deeply devoted to his daughter. I felt that I was being screened for child appropriateness, but I was enjoying myself. He said goodbye with a kiss. It felt presumptuous, but after a five-hour date, it probably wasn’t. The next week we went for sushi and crossed to the other side of Mockingbird Station for a beer.

During the week between the two dates and confirmed with our conversation that evening, we discovered that our desires for intimacy and communication differed greatly. No one said the words, but that was our second and last date. We realized that our definitions of fun were too different.

2.      Pay attention. Ex-boyfriend Andy entered the gym as I was mid-way through my cardio. Though our eyes did not meet, I knew he saw me. As he walked toward the locker room, he held his head down. Andy was the most painful relationship of my adult life. He contacted me through eHarmony three years ago. He called me every night for two weeks straight. He seemed to be interested in every sentence that I spoke. His photos showed bright blue eyes and a big bright smile. I was vested before we had even met.

Our three months together were exciting, anxious and deceptive. After a month, he told me that he loved me. That same night he told me that he was a bad person.

Some days we spent countless hours together: brunch, motorcycle rides, grocery shopping, cuddling and non-stop banter. Some days he could not be reached.

Though we took a beach vacation together, I never met one of his friends. Well, there was the birthday party for the girl who never talked to us. I wasn’t sure that we were actually invited.

Andy was a human roller coaster. I never had the stomach for roller coasters, and ultimately, as much as I thought I loved Andy, I did not have the stomach for him. After the split, I spent months that turned into years noting all the red flags that I should have paid attention to in the first place. I will probably never know if Andy will benefit from rehabilitation, but I definitely rehabilitated from Andy. My instincts screamed at me throughout my time with Andy, but I ignored them because I listened to Andy tell me that I was just neurotic. Ever since, I proclaim and celebrate my killer instinct.

3.      If you are not attracted or interested, find the exit. The last 10 minutes on the elliptical, Brian boarded the machine next to me. Brian is hard to miss. He is a ‘silver fox’ as his profile name reads. I looked in his direction with a smile on my face ready to give a quick ‘hello’. His entire face had a grimace, and he never looked my direction. As I completed those last few cardio moments, I reflected on our singular date and realized that the grimace should not surprise me.

Brian and I met for drinks at a McKinney Avenue bar this summer. He is recently divorced and has two teenage daughters. He felt jilted by his ex and was determined to warn his daughters.

Brian worked very hard during my two drinks (and his four) to keep the date and the conversation going. He elicited shock when he proclaimed, “I look good naked.” At that moment, I knew that I never wanted to find out.

I attempted to leave gracefully. As I unlocked my beach cruiser, he talked of second date ideas and my bicycle ride home. I smiled, gave him a hug and wished him well.

When he wrote the next day, I explained that I did not think we are looking for the same thing. He agreed, so we both finally reached the exit.

As I left the gym, I felt a deep sense of peace. Though my workout doubled as an episode of ‘Ghosts of Dating Past’, I felt content. I regretted nothing and noted everything. My three tips to Sylvia seemed off the cuff at the time, but as my heart rate slowed, I realized: Instincts, sensibilities and personal preferences are unique to each person. My tips are to acknowledge and allow for individuality. If we are paying attention, attracted and having fun, that’s when the apparitions fade and the real connections appear.

Blog goes to Deep Ellum ON AIR

The Big D's joins Deep Ellum ON AIR

Dating in Dallas transplanted to Vegas for the weekend. Blog post coming soon. In the meantime, if you want to contact The Big D's, learn all the Vegas trip details and more, visit Deep Ellum ON AIR on Tuesday, Oct. 4.

The Big D's launches a weekly Internet show on Tuesdays from 8 to 9 p.m., on Deep Ellum ON AIR at www.deepellumonair.com/thebigds.html.

Watch and call in LIVE at 214-752-DEEP (3337) on Tuesday nights or watch the show anytime streaming throughout the week at www.deepellumonair.com/thebigds.html.

Open to opportunities in lieu of plans with a man

Jacob is my karaoke buddy. He’s younger than me in age, profession and spirit. Jacob can belt out Audioslave or Queen like nobody’s business.

Getting weary of the online dating scene, I narrowed my focus to my immediate surroundings. I called Jacob and discussed our innocent flirting as we pondered if it could become more. He was sweet and gracious as we left the conversation as something for us both to think about.

Three weeks later Jacob posted a karaoke opportunity on my Facebook. Neither a place nor a night we have rendezvoused before. I was game.

Leaving the office I headed to Plano for two evening work events. As I readied to get back to Dallas, Jacob had text that he fell ill and could not make it. Finding my way back to 75 South, I called my girlfriend Veronica who lives in Plano. She was just finishing her early evening plans. My karaoke plans came back to life as she and I met at the End Zone Sports Bar & Grill.

The night included work and guy talk, a ‘Faithfully’ duet and conversations with Jim the middle-aged Zumba enthusiast, Carlos the Venezuelan gymnast and Angel, who had the voice of one.

Akin to a good date, Veronica text the next morning saying what a great time she had.

Over my Saturday morning coffee I reflected how Veronica stepped in as my Friday night karaoke date, and my tentative date plans for that afternoon …

Earlier in the week, I had conceded to James’ Match.com messages to talk on the phone. We are both from small East Texas communities, but it seemed, from there, our life paths diverged. Toward the end of a pleasant conversation, James asked for an early evening date on Saturday. I suggested that we take a couple cruiser bicycles around Dallas. We were to get back in touch to discuss logistics.

By Saturday afternoon my friend Miranda called to take me up on my suggestion that we ride soon, which was a reply to her Facebook post that she bought a cruiser. We met at my condo, rode to Stella McCartney’s new store in Highland Park Village and enjoyed a sandwich and conversation on Cedar Springs.

As dusk arrived, James’ call hadn’t.  Again I marveled how I had plans with a man, but a girlfriend stepped in as my date. Laughs, topics and pearls of wisdom were never in short supply with Veronica or Miranda, and they shared my love of karaoke and bicycling. This weekend was a good reminder that plans may change but when open to opportunities, great times can still be had.

Celebrating the moment: a nice first date

A month ago I emailed Sam on OKCupid because I really liked his photos and profile. He seemed kind and had passion for his work in medicine. After a few back-and-forth messages, we agreed that I would call him the next day. I did and left a message. Never heard back.

This week Sam contacted me. By his message, I could tell that he did not remember that we had already communicated and the voice mail was in his court. I was still interested but reminded him of our initial contact. Sam did not retreat in his interest.

Impetuous, he asked to meet out the night he contacted me. I was tired. The next night I was out, dressed to kill and emailed Sam an invitation to meet me out. He was tired. He asked if we could go out Friday.

By Friday afternoon, both of us were spent from a long week of work, but we had our first phone conversation. The two-hour conversation intrigued me out of my yawns. Sam asked me to come over and watch a movie. I declined explaining that no amount of messages, conversations and sharing photos of ourselves can replace in-person chemistry. I suggested some place neutral. We decided to go for sushi. He offered to pick me up, and I accepted.

As it got closer to the time he was to arrive, I began to slightly panic. Why did I accept a ride from someone I do not know? I began to use my Google prowess: first name*, city, employment. BINGO! There he was: headshot, job title, credentials, even a co-worker he mentioned.

The drought-breaking drizzle that escorted me from my condo to his car felt as refreshing as his appearance being even better than his pictures. Conversation never ceased as he opened doors, walked beside me and grabbed for the check without hesitation.

The restaurant was closing. The drizzle turned into rain. Sam drove me home and offered to come in to see my condo. Another time, I replied.

Throughout the night I found it easy to compliment: he smelled great, I liked his smile and upon goodbyes, I asked if I may kiss him on the cheek. He asked, “The cheek?” I responded by going from the cheek to the lips. Soft lips.

Sam has texted since what I considered to be the perfect first date: short and sweet. However, Sam’s premature invitations are to be noted. Will there be a second date? Only time will tell.

*Sam’s real name is unique

Stars in his lies

Steve was persistent in sending me messages on OKCupid. He began by asking me out for the same day as his message. After no response for a few days, he pleaded for any response.

I did not respond to the first couple messages because it was a Saturday, and a girl’s got stuff to do. Though Steve’s photos were of a fit, attractive man, something in his narrative didn’t feel right, so I chose to ignore those first messages.

Upon receiving his last-ditch attempt, I revisited his profile to try to pinpoint exactly what it was that I did not like. Couldn’t find it. I appreciated the candor and tenacity of his messages, so I thought, “Why not?”

I agreed to meet for a drink during the week. I was punctual. He was early. We sat at the front corner of the bar of a trendy Henderson Avenue restaurant.

He looked eager. I casually asked about his day, and that seemed to put him on the spot. Conversation segued into the idea of being ‘present’ in life. Enjoying the moment. Seeing the truth in situations. I adore talking philosophically.

The philosophical took an astronomical spin. Steve began to describe a red dwarf star that was nearing Earth, and within two months, this star will have a strong gravitational pull on our fare marble as it aligns with the sun and a few nearby planets. Not necessarily apocalyptic, but severe tectonic plate shifting. Steve said many people will be troubled by this. He encouraged me to find my peace and get my life in order.

I was over the moon! This is the type of conversation that Hollywood writers get paid to put on television, but I was getting in real life and treated to a cocktail at the same time!

As I continued to listen, Steve talked about work. He works in the fitness industry and has big ideas for a business venture. I will not divulge details as this was in confidence.

As he detailed the future of this business venture, he kept tripping over his words. The ex-wife sounded not so former but present. I asked, “When did you and your wife divorce?”

“Well, it's just a matter of the paperwork now,” Steve replied.

My light disposition fell grave. He lied. His profile stated single. As I stood to go to the ladies room to compose myself, I said, “I do not date married men.”

“This isn’t a date,” Steve replied. Moments after paying our tab. Buying me a couple drinks. At a restaurant. Just the two of us.

I could not leave his presence fast enough. How’s that for being present?

Steve was a reminder that I don’t need to pinpoint what specifically my instinct doesn’t like. But if I don’t listen to it, I will see it when the stars align.

A kiss is just a kiss

I hadn’t done karaoke in almost two weeks, so I headed to one of my regular places on Lower Greenville Thursday night. I arrived in a cute summer dress with shimmery ballet flats and a cell phone with low battery. Though I planned to stay to myself catching up on Words with Friends between songs, I decided to turn the phone off to conserve for my ride home and enjoy the view. Lots of familiar but unacquainted faces led to many bouts of small talk. Except for David.

David kept close, smiled big and engaged me in conversation as often as he could. The big dimples, nice smile and bright eyes made it easy to pick up conversation with this young man. Even when it was my turn at karaoke, I could see him watching intently. After two songs and a cocktail, I found myself consumed in conversation teetering on debate with Young David. At one point when he excused himself to go to the bathroom, I realized that his friendly demeanor and genuine interest in my opinions incited my strong, almost bullying viewpoints.

Upon his return I apologized for being so strong with my dissenting opinions on politics and suburban living. I explained that he was so easy to talk with that I overindulged in debate tactics. He responded that it was fine. He liked it. At that moment, it dawned on me that Young David thought anything I did that night was fine as I saw smitten kitten in his eyes.

I stepped back and took it all in: the tête-à-tête, the dimples and the hopeful eyes. He was oh-so young, but I was becoming smitten, too. The strong emotions that stirred in me during conversation evolved into attraction. I smiled and responded to his attention with a light touch of his arm, then his knee. Next thing I knew we were kissing. And kissing. Pull back for breath. Oh yeah, then kissing again.

As we made eye contact, Young David noticed I was blushing. “Why?” he asked.

“Maybe because I had no idea that I’d be kissing someone tonight. And REALLY enjoying it.”

I then noticed beneath his darker skin tone, he was blushing, too. Little red apples resting above his big dimples. He wouldn’t concede that he was blushing. He just redirected discussion to my rosiness. I offered my number. He proclaimed he wanted to take me to dinner. I felt it fair to share exactly how old I was because even at his top guess, I was still in a higher age bracket. He tried his darnedest to look OK with our 14-year difference. I offered that it was OK if we didn't go out. The kisses were nice. That was enough. He was insistent that we were to dine together in the near future.

Even when I got home my face continued to feel warm and my heart raced. I marveled how quickly the night turned into one of the best kissing experiences I’d ever had. Perplexed. I could not see this going anywhere but something akin to shampoo instructions: kiss, rinse, repeat.

Over the next 24 hours Young David texted, and I replied. I normally do not like texting as a way to get to know someone, but our date would be Saturday night, and I was curious what Young David does with his days.

By Saturday evening, Young David called regretfully that his nephew had an accident, and he would not be able to see me that night. I was silent and saddened. I pined to exercise shampoo-instruction-similar activity. But, my mind raced to our conversations: He was deciding whether to finish the last few credits to earn his degree. I was contemplating whether to diversify my retirement portfolio into some safer investments as I was nearing the mid-point in my career.

When he offered to call me the next day to plan a date for the next weekend, I softly begged, “No. Thursday was great. Please don’t.”

“OK” he responded with what I believed to be disappointment and relief all in one. I would not take away my Young David kissing experience, but it was a moment not to be repeated.

Fastest bad date in the South

Matt found me on Match.com. Matt is an empty-nest divorcé just shy of a decade older than me. His photos are cute and his messages were complimentary of my profile photos, and intrigued with my subscription to the New Yorker magazine and our common interests.

When we discussed meeting up, he attempted asking me for an evening drink the day of. Twice. Both times I had other plans. When I offered other days, he said that he would get back to me. His third time was a charm, I was available. He picked the place. I picked the time.

As I rushed from the gym to shower and change, I did not have time to cure the post-workout hunger. The trendy semi-new Cedar Springs restaurant was so close; it would have been a crime for this bicycle enthusiast to take four wheels. So I headed out on two wheels and an empty stomach

A triple-digit-temperature day resulted in me immediately seeking out a cool towel to dab my face after the short ride. Passing through the very crowded restaurant toward the ladies room, I saw no Matt. Once inside I saw he text that he arrived. I text back to ask where I could find him. Outside.

We shook hands. He looked as if he put no effort into his attire. I knew he put no effort into getting there because of the phone conversation when he told me where he lived. A block away.

Matt remarked how crowded it was. I offered that we could stand inside as we have our drink. He asked if we could sit outside. I said that I just rode my bike and found the weather too hot to enjoy the patio. I mentioned that I wanted to order some food, too. He looked as if he’d been snookered, “I thought we agreed to meet for drinks?”

I replied, “You are welcome to have a drink, but I need to eat.”

I explained how work was busier than I expected and that gave me a late start at the gym. Though I had intentions of eating at home, my priority was to meet him on time.

He offered going somewhere else several times, and each time I said ‘sure’ – I was game for any place Matt chose.

He asked again about outside for just a drink. I conceded. Matt asked, “Are you sure?” I smirked, “Well, I told you what I would like. You don’t seem to want to do that, so I can have a drink with you for an hour then do my own thing.”

“Listen,” he replied, “I’m getting a bad feel from the start.” I felt as if the skies opened and the angel of dating salvation touched my shoulder to say, “Now you may leave.” I did. “Yeah. Me, too. Thanks anyway.” I made a bee line for the Bianchi.

Matt called out, “Hey, don’t take it personally.”

I didn’t. How could I? It has always been about Matt. He is just searching for his perfect doormat.

All the Young Dudes, Carry the News: I am not a Coug!

Cougar: An older woman who frequents clubs in order to score with a much younger man.
Urban Dictionary definition

The night before my birthday I met friends out for karaoke at Double Wide. I was equipped with a cute dress, high heels and bravado in anticipation of becoming a year older at midnight. Quickly, I spotted a man with big brown eyes and an even bigger brown beard. He saw the interest in my eyes and smiled. A few times through the night he’d pass by to say, “You look nice,” or “I really like your dress.”

As the night grew long, I lounged on one of the pleather sofas scattered outside. Bearded brown eyes walked by. I motioned for him to come over.

As he sat down, I said, “In three minutes it is my birthday. I would like a birthday kiss.”

He obliged. A few times. It was nice.

When we pulled away, he said, “Happy birthday. How old are you?”

“39. How old are you?”

“21.”

I burst into laughter as I thought he was very witty. No. He wasn’t witty. He was 21. He showed me his portrait-format driver’s license (vs. landscape) to prove. I gulped and remarked, “I could be your mother.”

“I know!” Ken reflected, “Isn’t it kinky?”

“Yes,” and as the shock wore off, we had one last kiss.

Ken asked for my phone number. Emphatically, I let him know that I was not sharing. When I recounted the story to a friend, she laughed. She pointed out that, in order, I was against giving someone my number who 1. Lives in Fort Worth, then 2. Is 18 years younger than me. Yes, being geographically undesirable is a big deterrent. I had yet to wrap my mind around dating someone much younger.

And then another young dude interlude …

One late night I stopped by Lakewood Landing to meet up with some friends. While waiting at the bar for my water, I noticed, though the kitchen was closed, corndogs were available. As I waited for my order, a younger man down the bar from me asked his two friends between us to see if I was married. His friends relayed the question like kids passing notes in a line of school desks.

I smiled and said ‘no’ as I showed my hands to prove no ring on the wedding finger.

Then the inquisitor walked toward me, introduced himself as Prescott and asked again.

“No, are you?” I replied.

Prescott took off his Buddy Holly glasses to give me a better look at his face, and replied, “How old do I look?”

This puzzled me, “What does your age have to do with if you are married?”

Prescott scoffed, “Why do you think that I’d want to be married at my age?”

“Same here, Prescott. Why would I want to be married at my age?”

Corndog arrived, and I bid adieu with this advice, “Prescott, I’m going outside to eat my corndog, and you are going to work on your pick-up lines.”

And the third time is a charm …

Another night of karaoke with friends, I wore the same dress, heels and bravado as the night at the Double Wide. A few men of various ages approached me throughout the night and made small talk. I was polite but clear that I had no interest in anything but conversation with my friends and performing some humble renditions of some great tunes.

As I was nearing departure, Brian, a tall young man, approached me. I had small talk with him earlier. This was different. He made it very clear, “I want to take you out on a date.”

I looked up from my phone and into his eyes. Quick on my barstool, I inquired, “Are you single?”

Affirmative.

“How old are you?”

“24.”

Déjà vu from my birthday kisser, I spontaneously and uncomfortably laughed, “Brian, we don’t have anything in common.”

“How do you know?”

“You are 24! I am 39 …”

“I could have lied.”

Piercing glance caused him to backpedal, “I really liked your karaoke performance.”

Another glance, caused him to reply, “I am not saying that if you had a concert that I would buy a ticket.”

I was amused. We briefly discussed the public display of self-indulgence that karaoke is.

My mind raced through past experiences and exactly what Brian was doing. I asked, “What would we do on this date?”

“I would take you to dinner then for a couple glasses of wine. We would talk, and if we have stuff in common, we’ll go on a second date. If not, no harm.”

Everything in me thought that this is a guy showing confidence (not arrogance) and sincere interest.

I gave him my number.

I have no expectations for Ken, Prescott or Brian but for them to continue their interest in women of their age, but these encounters left me with lots of thoughts: I was flattered. I wondered if these attempts were conquests. I pondered what they expected. Then I realized those are all the same thoughts I would have of men my age.

Martin the angry Martian

Martin is from Garland. He had written several insightful, thoughtful emails to me through Match.com over a few weeks. These messages coupled with photos of a lean, bald, active man piqued my interest.

Though I am a geographical snob, he passed the test by having purposeful reasons why he lived in the suburbs: home equity and proximity to a lake for his boat.

I was eagerly looking forward to our date as he suggested Top Golf. I had never experienced Top Golf, but friends gave it rave reviews. I did tell Martin that I took a few golf classes in college and at one time, owned clubs.

Between work hours and twilight, Martin called to say that he was running late and asked if we could push our time back by 30 minutes. Worked for me. Considerate.

Martin called as he was on his way. I told him to take his time as I might be 15 minutes late – at most. His voice sounded strained with annoyance. I emphasized that 15 minutes was tops. He replied that he’d turn around and go back home as he just left the house.

Red lights and slow drivers were out that night, and I barely made Top Golf at time promised. Once inside, I sighed relief as I did not see Martin and assured myself I arrived first.

After a few moments, I called. He answered his phone, “Where are you?”

“Oh, inside. Are you here?”

Martin’s voice grew tense, “I’m in my truck.”

“Well, come on in!” I replied with cheerful enthusiasm.

“Did you bring your clubs?”

My mind began racing to remember if he told me that I needed clubs, or did I give the impression that I still owned that historical set? “No. Did I need clubs?”

“You didn’t bring clubs!?!”

Remembering him being an inch taller than me from his Match.com profile, I was quick to say, “No, sorry. Can I use yours as we are similar height?”

A rambling of thoughts began spewing from his mouth that did not seem to make sense, “I don’t want to lug my clubs all over the place all night. You said you had clubs.” Etc.

Trying to make sense of it all, “Martin, how does me not bringing clubs make for you to have to carry your clubs all night?”

“We don’t know how long we’ll have to wait to play!”

This was a simple remedy as I was in front of registration. An hour and a half wait. Effort to calm down the situation, “Martin, leave your clubs. Come on in and have a drink.”

Top Golf might as well have been any bar in Dallas as we never hit a ball. However, after Martin’s welcoming tyrant, I was not eager to be near him with a club in his hand. I had a flashback of my 7-year-old brother at a miniature course knocking me down with one quick swing to my legs with a putter.

By the time we were sitting at the bar relaxing with a cocktail in hand, I decided this situation was akin to a flight. The plane will go down, either smoothly or in flames. I was determined to bring it in for a gentle touchdown.

Martin’s first attempt at non-golf conversation was to inquire if he looked like his photos. “Kind of.” Honesty left my lips before survival instinct kicked in. To me, he looked like an angry, intense, divorced man who had pre-determined dating was a kick in the ass.  At this point I would agree.

Conversation stayed light: nutrition, exercise, childhood memories.

Still afraid that I had been lingering near a swarm of sleeping bees, I thanked Martin for the drinks and said that I was going to meet friends for karaoke. I told him he was welcome if he wanted.

I admit that I was terrified that if I made clear that the date was over at Top Golf, he’d go look for his clubs.

Karaoke, friends and another cocktail were the proper landing gear. I shook his hand and said goodbye to Martin the angry Martian.

Do the dating hokey pokey: Put your fake foot in, take your shattered foot out

Here goes my first blog entry ... I will do my best to be kind. Please, share your thoughts in return. Don't know how often or long I will post, but I am hoping to stir discussion and reflection on today's dating world.

After a couple Match.com messages, Larry wasted no time. He wanted to talk on the phone or meet for a drink. No time like the present, so we agreed to meet at a Knox-Henderson bar the next day. I took the lead and suggested the bar. <NOTE: On first dates, I like to go to places that I’ve never been before as 1. Not as likely to run into friends, and 2. I like trying new places – a bonus even if there’s no connection.>

Prior to meeting Larry, I had an evening work function. I showed his profile to a trusted friend. She commented on his statement: “I don’t like to talk about my accomplishments.”  She said, “I bet he does.”

I got to the bar moments before Larry. He was gracious but slightly older than his photos.  Conversation was easy as we both like bicycling. However, Larry is an accomplished professional racer. Larry has lived and travelled around the world with competitive cycling. Others flock to ride with Larry. How do I know all this? Larry told me.

While not sharing his accomplishments, Larry told me how he recently shattered his foot. No, not a bicycle injury but an accident when he was playing with his dog while wearing Crocs. When he decided that he couldn’t verbally do the reconstructive surgery justice, he offered to show me a picture on his phone. “No thanks,” I politely replied. “No, it’s OK,” was his rebuttal as he put the phone in my face. <RED FLAG: someone who doesn’t honor your request> Luckily, it wasn’t swollen toes and bruising but an x-ray that included a dozen screws in multiple angles throughout the silhouette of his foot.

“Well, I better go before the Mavs win, so I don’t have to fight the traffic on my bicycle.” My cruiser was locked next to the valet stand out front.

We shook hands and wished each other well.

Rode to meet some friends for karaoke at an Uptown bar. Moments after I arrived, a blond, very tall, large fellow with big dimples and a nice smile appeared. He was talking to my friend, so I was introduced to Dan. Dan was a friendly, giant teddy bear.

After a little small talk, Dan asked what I did for a living. He was also insistent on knowing my last name. The more persistent Dan was in knowing my résumé versus me, the less attractive he became. He proudly let me know that he sold feet. Prosthetic feet.

Karaoke was calling. I made my escape.

Not until the morning did I realize the oddity of the foot connection. If Larry’s surgery doesn’t hold up, Dan’s his man.