Dating is just as I remember it; all wet

It’s been about a year since I went on my last “first date.” Until last night, that is. In between, I dated a couple different girls and actually got pretty serious about one of them; it didn’t work out. ‘Nuff said on that.

Point is, I recently found myself back on the market. Fortunately, I still have all my hair, teeth and most of my wits about me. Unfortunately, the dating scene hasn’t changed much in the year I’ve been away.

The online dating world is still full of crazies, desperadoes, saints and sinners and big fat fibbers. Of course, there are a few good ones out there, such as the girl I met last night. She was pleasant, intelligent, well-educated, a great conversationalist and on top of all that, pretty.

She wasn’t the problem. The problem was getting to the place we were to meet, an upscale yet casual restaurant in Royal Oak. Being new to the area, I’d never heard of the place, but I do have GPS—in my estimation, the single greatest invention of the century.

My dinosaur-mobile gave up the ghost recently and I have yet to replace it, so my daughter offered to loan me her car.

As date time approached, I shaved, showered, brushed my teeth, used mouthwash (just in case), ironed a shirt, shined my best shoes, splashed on cologne…when I go on a date, I pull out all the stops! By the time I walked out the door, I looked almost exactly like a young Tom Selleck. (It is possible, of course, that this assessment is purely self-delusion, but if so, it’s a delusion I intend to maintain as long as possible.)

“See you later, Moose,” I said to my daughter. (She hates the nickname, but has endured it since just before her second birthday.)

“Good luck, daddy,” she said. “Oh, by the way, the window’s not working.”

“The window?” I said.

“The driver’s side window,” she said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it, but it won’t roll up.”

“It’s down now?” I asked, staring through the window at the rain, which had been pouring down in buckets for nearly two hours.

“Yeah,” she said. “You might want to take a towel.” I took two.

It took about ten minutes to get to downtown Royal Oak, by which time the entire left side of my body was soaked. My nicely-ironed shirt clung to my clammy flesh like an oil slick. My previously-combed hair looked a lot like Nicholas Cage’s in “Raising Arizona.” If I’d been wearing glasses, I would have wrapped tape around the bridge just to complete the disgruntled psycho killer look.

I drove around for a while trying to find the restaurant and that most elusive element in any city of size—a parking space. The deluge continued to pour through the open window.

I drove around a while longer. Eventually I figured out I’d plugged the wrong address into my GPS; I was six blocks from the place I was supposed to be and had driven past the restaurant at least three times during the course of my increasingly lengthy aquatic sojourn.

The parking space I eventually found was less than two blocks from the restaurant. This was fortunate, since the only umbrella in the car was bright pink and sported the Hello Kitty logo. Shambling along Main Street, I looked like the half-drowned remnant of a gay pride parade. (This being Royal Oak, I wasn’t the only one.)

My date arrived before I’d had a chance to attempt a quick fix in the restroom. I tried to keep my dry side facing toward her throughout the evening, but I’m pretty sure she noticed the puddle forming around my feet.

Back home at the end of the night I wondered, is this a harbinger of dates to come? And if so, is it too late to phone one of my ex-wives to see if she wants to get back together?

More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.