As hundreds of you know, my recent romantic life has been dramatic. Not a drama that Jane Austen would write about, but that Stephen King might. The tumult began in July 2008 when, after months of mimicking Linda Blair in The Exorcist, my acquaintance filed for divorce. The next afternoon I did what most sensible men would: I signed up on Match and eHarmony. I got instant results but some pockets of resistance, typified by this exchange: “How long have you been separated?” “We aren’t.” A pause. “OK, how long ago did she file?” I calculated, then asked: “In seconds, or minutes? During my second day on Match, a photo stopped me. It was of a lovely brunette who also attended Stanford and whose resume included an item rarely seen on dating sites: an endowed scholarship in her name at a business school. I sensed talent and brains and could not miss the scent of money. I sent her a message. We had the exchange above. She said sorry. Not even for coffee? “Not until you are divorced.” Well, hell with that, I will contact the pretty artist in photo number three. Starving painter and I endure 19 months that end in a bout that my dear friend, Kevin McGregor, attended and that left him with an amusing story. Shortly after the artist came another lady, bringing her short fuse and more chaos. American libel laws bar me from providing the details, but they prompted Kevin to offer this suggestion: Stop dating, or start wearing a flak jacket. I heeded his recommendation: I quit--for two years. I missed the hours under the covers, of course, but my experiment worked. And my wounds healed. It’s now January, 2014. I remember Ms. Gifted and contact her through LinkedIn. “Are you divorced yet?” she said. “Yes, and I am collecting disability for it. Coffee?” We proceed cautiously--as cautiously as two smart porcupines might, and certainly should. On our fourth date, I attempted a quick good-night peck on her cheek. It resulted in what baseball calls a wild pitch. On our sixth date, I calculated that on our current pace, we would start necking sometime in 2017. But I liked her--everyone does, it turns out. So I began to review my 2009 Dream Woman list It read, “serene, smart, sophisticated, sensual, curious, and loving.” I realized that Ms. Gifted was serene--try to find a Buddhist who isn’t--as well as smart, sophisticated, and curious. Her tender musings about her two children showed me she was loving. So she had checked five of my six items, with only item four in doubt. Hell, I’d proposed over half of that before. We reach Week Eight and last Saturday. Halfway on our walk around Lake of the Isles, I stopped, turned to her, and said, “You wanna go steady?” Without pause, she said “Absolutely.” I pulled from my black jacket a white ring box. In it was a ring that I had woven from two hair bands in her favorite colors, fuschia and black. They had set me back four dollars. She wears it every day, even to important client meetings. I don’t have all the words for this lovely woman, but I do have 21: We shared a Stanford campus from 1969 to 1972. And if I had found her then, I would have stopped looking. So my dear Facebook friends, please welcome the woman who checks off every box on my Dream List, and then many more. This is Stephanie Chew Grossman, and this lady is epic.
Posted on: Wed, 02 Apr 2014 14:19:36 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015