Okay, I didn't wear glasses and wouldn't be caught dead with a dead animal around my neck. Otherwise, she's a dead ringer for me looking-for-love. Are there too many "deads" in this caption?

Lorna is an independent working girl (not that kind) with a Master’s degree who is totally dependent on alcohol and other people’s approval. She’s 25 and looking for lasting love.

While working for the College as a Research Consultant, I met a young man who was a working in the office that provided me clerical support. “C” was friendly and helpful. On the surface, he was not my type: skinny and intellectual. But “C” was interested in me–my #1 quality in a potential boyfriend. He was also a dog-lover. Our first conversation was about his beloved German Shepard that had just died. I spoke of my darling (still alive) Old English Sheepdog, Humphrey. How could I not like a guy who loved dogs and was interested in me? Thus began my first friendship with a male other than my step-grandfather.

Seems we have a theme here... Tall, slim, intellectual, doesn't seem to be her "type." He isn't her step-grandfather, is he?

Our 1st date was a hockey game. I was the third person he asked–two other male friends were busy. If this was an omen, my vision was blurred by my excitement about seeing a semi-pro hockey game. (Hockey was the only sport I understood, besides bowling and drunken-flirting.) The game was 100 miles away. He said we would have a picnic on the way. I packed a lettuce sandwich, can a Fresca, and a bag of popcorn. He brought a wicker picnic basket filled with a smorgsaborg of soft drinks, meats, breads, salads, and desserts to share. I tucked my paper bag of solo provisions under the seat.

"C's" car was an old Toyota Corolla and we were traveling at night, so I wouldn't have needed sun glasses. Plus, "C" never smoked a pipe, but my step-grandfather did. Hmmmm.

I pre-drank enough vodka to loosen me up for any awkward 1st date banter. Silly me. He talked the whole time about the brilliance of Reaganomics. Shutting up Listening takes very few skills. Remembering was a bit more challenging.

Here’s what I remember:

  1. He was a talkative conservative Business/Economics major who knew everything.
  2. He wasn’t interested in what I knew.
  3. His family was well-enough-to-do Methodist, earning their upper rung on the social ladder through hard work.

    Did you hear that? It sounds likes those blasted Joneses are down there trying to keep up with us.

  4. He didn’t ask me about my background. I guess my foreground was sufficiently interesting.

    I still carry this sign as a public service.

  5. He was a Free Mason, which, from what I could tell, was a secretive misogynistic cult masquerading as a community-minded organization. I could’ve been wrong, but asking questions wasn’t allowed.
  6. I worked with his mother at the college, so I finally learned his last name.
  7. He thought I was odd (not adventuresome) going 100 miles away with a guy whose last name I didn’t know.

    What? I have a question. I ask it. Don't challenge me to a "Walk Off." You'll lose, buster. (It's the alcohol talking.)

  8. He was generous (picnic provisions).
  9. He knew ziltch about hockey.

    The Bieberster wasn't alive then, but "C" knew about as much as hockey as the unborn Bieberific.

  10. He couldn’t tell I was loopy with “the drink.”
  11. He wouldn’t share my popcorn–too salty for his hypertension.
  12. He kissed me on the cheek at the end of the date and didn’t try getting to 2nd, 3rd, or home base. Maybe he was unfamiliar with baseball, too.

    Another theme...The Bieb looks pretty confused about baseball, too...

Was he a skinny, intellectual, talkative, type “A” gentleman or just a guy who liked dogs and noticed me, a type “B” gal: blonde, blue-eyed, buxom, booze-crazy, and brainy? I went up to my apartment, glugged some vodka, and took Humphrey for a night-time walk wondering why this was the only man (except for my step-grandfather) who didn’t try to have sex with me.

I'm befuddled. Is economics sexier than I am? And where the heck is Humphrey? I could use a drink to clear my head.

Would Lorna ever see “C” again? Did she want to see “C” again? Isn’t saying see “C” fun?