bound for glory

Last night, I met a new friend for dinner, and as with nearly all met-a-new-friend-for-dinner-nights, it was a charming, lovely few hours with no real spark.

Most of my friends have soured on this sort of dating. I think it’s maybe a generational thing. At 56, I’m not opposed to a hook-up, but need more than an opportunity to move toward intimacy. I think that’s fairly common with age—or maybe I’m just old. Either way, the upshot is that I don’t go on dates looking to take someone home or be swept off my feet, and doing so with the expectation of some great reward of sex or love is, for me, something like randomly grabbing two jigsaw puzzle pieces and assuming they’ll fit. 

When that DOES happen, that’s great, but expecting two incredibly complex, sentient beings to click perfectly into one another over dinner seems a bit of a skylark.