True Story -- Dating Tangent #2,763

You all know that I'm dipping my toe into the dating waters again, and some of those experiences will reappear as fiction to protect those involved. Before I decided to start dating again, I kept thinking about A) How could I date with a broken foot? Shouldn't I just wait? Isn't it a little pathetic to meet someone while I was on crutches and cast-ed? And then that thought was immediately supported by B) A little personal ad I read 10 years ago while living in New York. And it scarred me forever.

I picked up, oh, I forget the name of it, you know, that magazine that is all about NY...and has fabulously descriptive personal ads with pictures advertising "escorts"...just in case you're so lonely you need to pay someone to hang out with you. I was idly flipping through the magazine, stopped on the Men Searching Women, looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching, and then began to read voraciously. Can one read voraciously? Yes. One can. Especially if she's in her mid-twenties, in Manhattan,and the holidays are looming.

I came across a personal ad that totally seemed like it was meant for me. Like, here He is. The man I'm going to love and marry and make babies with.

Here’s the ad from memory:

I am an intelligent man looking for an intelligent woman to share my life with. I’m a professor of English and enjoy fine wine and restaurants. I’m attractive, professional, and well-adjusted. I’m looking for the One.

I stopped reading. I looked up to the heavens and thought, wow. Wow. He is something. But there was still one line left to read. So I read:

Also, I wear a diaper because of some issues. I’m hoping the woman I’ll fall in love with will also wear a diaper.

What? WHAT? Seriously? No! No! (Read the next ‘no’ like Charleton Heston when he discovers the truth about Planet of the Apes) NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Ahem.

Flash forward a decade later. Past 9/11 in New York, past getting married to a nice enough guy, past 2 kids, past moving out, past divorce, slow down to broken foot.

Then I thought, okay, so am I the new Diaper Guy? Do I show up on a date as a cripple? Isn’t that a little sad?

Then I thought, fuck it. Poor Diaper Guy, he’s in a diaper for life (and maybe he’s found a Diaper Wife) but this walking cast? This bastard comes off in three more weeks. And then I’m wearing a miniskirt.

Rah.