Years ago, I asked a few close friends, after reading a suggestion in some new age self-help book, to tell me what they thought were my character strengths and weaknesses. One friend replied in her assessment on my weaknesses, that I choose men like I choose shoes, they may look good, but they don’t fit.
I’ve noticed lately that shoes, figuratively and literally have been popping up in my dating life again, just when I thought I had a handle on it.
The last NYC date I went on, was with a slight Italian man who reached out to me on Hinge. We met up at a café on 6th Ave in the Village. Immediately, I realized he may be on the tense side, as he didn’t smile, his foot was tapping non-stop, and all he could muster upon meeting was, “Oh, you look like your photo.” I took that to mean, hello.
After ordering a cappuccino, I asked what he did for a living which he refused to say, alluding to the fact that he was successful in some part of the fashion business and he didn’t want to tell me, because, as he said, “You never know what people’s intentions are.” Oy. Okay. No conversation there.
He then went on to tell me about his past love life, which, mind you, I had not asked about, however, I’ve learned to let people reveal what they want to reveal. He went on to mention his last relationship was with a Jewish woman, and that they broke up after October 7th. He said they had differences of opinion. “On what?” I asked. He said he didn’t believe Israel has a right to exist. To which my face must have made so many crazy expressions at that point, far more than any amount of Botox allows, that he looked at me and said, “I guess the date is over.” To which I nodded. However, before I could even begin to put my coat on, he went into a whole tirade of reasons why he believed what he believed. I tried to counterpoint pretty much everything he said to no avail since he was so worked up. I then asked him, “What else are you passionate about?”, to change the subject while I finished my coffee and put my coat on. He said rescuing animals.
And before I stood up, he said, “Let me see your shoes.
With a quizzical look on my face, I asked why. He said he wanted to guess my shoe size. To which I replied, “Would you like me to get on a scale so you can guess my weight?” Which apparently amused him since he quipped, “You’re funny.” And proceeded to tell me he wanted to give me a pair of shoes.
At this point, if you think I’m making this up, I’m not.
Now, I have to say, the date was over pretty much ten minutes ago, however, hearing someone say they wanted to give me shoes, all my old character weaknesses came pouring in. I actually stopped for a minute to consider his offer and said, only if they are high end. To which he now made some remark implying I was being a snob, which quickly snapped me back to my senses, and all the inner work I’ve done on myself these last 20 years, and I hurriedly put my coat on to leave. He said, “The ball’s in your court, you have my number,” as I ran out to the street as fast as I could and quickly erased all his contact from my phone.
Which is when I thought to myself, take yourself out on a date and stop looking for one on the internet. So, I immediately found a theatre playing the Bob Dylan movie. The movie brought back of flood of memories of my life pre-Nashville, having played Folk City in my younger days and having been a staple in the Greenwich Village folk scene.
Movie over, I was now on the Upper East side, just twenty or so blocks from my son’s place so I decided to walk home. One of the great things I love about NYC. Walking. Which is how I then ran into a man in a cowboy hat, fur scarf, out with his two cute dogs on the corner of my son’s block, as we both stopped to look at 3 firetrucks wildly approaching a building across the street. He looked at me and asked me if I saw any fire, which neither of us saw.
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Conversation ensued and quickly turned into him asking me if I was married. When I said no, he quickly asked if I was single to which he blurted out that I was cute. Suffice it to say, I realized that in this day and age, you don’t have to wear false eyelashes, big wigs, high heels, and can be well over 50, wrapped up like a winter mummy and still be picked up by men on the street.
Not that I was looking for to be picked up by anybody, mind you. My first thought was, I think this man is either drunk or maybe a little cukoo. However, since his two cute friendly terriers, were so endearing I gave him the benefit of the dog. When I told him I want to move back to NYC, he boldly offered me one of his three bedrooms in his apartment in a gorgeous prewar building on the corner and that I was welcome to move in with him.
I wondered for a moment if that’s where the realty app called StreetEasy got its name. Who knew that was the way to find a home in NYC? I was familiar with the building he stated he lived in, and, I have to say, second time that day, my old character defects started having their way in my head, because closely behind bad shoe decisions in my life, comes fantasy architectural/home dreams and I actually let myself entertain the insane invitation for one second.
He then, and I’m not kidding, looked down at my sneakers and made a comment about my shoes, since he claimed he was a Polo player in the past and my sneakers caught his attention. Seriously, two men, two shoe comments and two dogs all in one day. Too crazy.
At that moment another man with, yes, two pedigrees stopped to say hello to him. I saw my moment to slip away and said I had to go. To which he gave me his name and said I should come to his apt later, the doorman would let me in, while alluding to me not wearing much clothing when I showed up. Yikes!
And while that day, a lot of things came in twos, matching up with two strangers was not one of them. However, I know one thing that I can still count on that does. Shoes. Shoes that fit…that is.
