Von

She’s definitely a keeper.

It’s what crossed my mind as I gazed into the eyes of the lovely young lady with whom I was having dinner.

 

It’s funny how quickly things progress sometimes; just a week earlier I’d noticed her profile online.
An attractive lawyer looking to meet someone new. Why couldn’t that new person be me?

I expressed my interest. She promptly replied, noting that she’d checked out my profile and the feeling was mutual.

She left her number and asked that I call.

 

 

 

Our first conversation went really well.
Her voice was light and feminine—really sexy. The dialogue seemed to flow effortlessly. We conversed for more than an hour; before ending the conversation, I asked if she’d be interested in having dinner soon.

 

 

 

That weekend we sat across from one another at my favorite local restaurant.

 

I was as impressed with her in person as I was by her online profile. She was short with thick, shoulder-length hair. Her skin was a dark, chocolate complexion. Nice, full lips. Her semi-low-cut top showcased her nice lil’ rack. When she excused herself to the bathroom, I got a chance to check out her other assets. Very nice!

 

 

Dinner went well.
She was relieved that my pics weren’t misleading. And impressed by my restaurant choice (“I really like this place”).
We talked about everything—from sports, to religion, to life in general.

At one point she told me about her volunteer efforts. In her spare time, she tutors grade-school kids and helps them with their homework. I was impressed that she devoted time from her busy schedule to help the kiddies (I, on the other hand, spend my free time on the couch watching sports).

 

I told her she was more than just a pretty face.
Corny, I know—but dammit(!), I meant it. And she seemed genuinely moved by the compliment.

 
I began to look for signs that she really was interested. Being an eternal pessimist—I never just assume that a woman will want to see me again. However, she dropped a few subtle hints (“we should work out together one day…”) that put my anxiety to rest.

There would be a second date. Hopefully many more after that.

 

 

 

Soon we decided to call it a night. I picked up the tab. She thanked me for dinner.

As we waited for the valet to return with her car, she asked if I’d like a ride to mine: “I guess it’s safe. You won’t kill me and chop me up.”
With a straight face, I replied: “You never know…”
 “Don’t say that!” she said. We both laughed.

A few minutes later I found myself in her car, parked beside mine.
We made more small talk; she ate a mint before offering me one.

Wait a minute: was this a prelude to an old-school makeout session?

I couldn’t be 100% sure. Some women forbid kissing on the first date. And while it looked like a golden opportunity—I decided to play it safe and live to fight another day.

 

Instead I gave her a big hug and sent her on her way.

30 minutes later I got a text:
Im home & back in bed…thanks for tonight, I really enjoyed meeting u

 

 

Any lingering doubts about her interest were once again extinguished.
I went to bed ecstatic that maybe, just maybe, my search for the right girl was over.
And that my time dealing with flaky chicks was a thing of the past.

 

 

 

I called her a few days later…

…and haven’t heard from her since (almost a month ago).

 

 

damn.

 

 

Now, maybe one day when I’m old and gray with a few grandkids and a loving wife—I’ll look back on this moment and laugh.

 

But for now, seems like I can’t win for losing.