Dating Tales

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Through the years I’ve given out my number in all kinds of ways, but the most unique phone number giving strategies were inspired by friends.

For example, awhile back I frequented this Italian restaurant in my neighborhood and developed a ginormous crush on the waiter. His gorgeous blue eyes spoke to me for months. Finally, my friend tired of hearing me swoon and wrote my name and number on my credit car slip. She signed: “Call Me.”

He never called and I never returned to that hip little dive. Thanks friend.

In another situation a friend of mine and I were traveling on I-90 for an entire afternoon and finally were so bored that we started making eyes with other drivers. After a few uneventful waves and smiles we came upon a car with two good looking twenty-somethings. They smiled back. They waved back. And after a few minutes of passing back and forth I was convinced to give out my number.

I dug through my Jessica Simpson Hobo bag to find a red sharpie and something to write on. In bright red letters I wrote “Call Me” and my number–original, I know. But it worked. Unlike my previous experience at the restaurant, my phone rang within 30 seconds. I answered to find Daniel on the other end.

“Hello.”

“Hey, its Daniel. The passenger. How ya doin’?”

Daniel and I chatted for a minute and he agreed to call later in the week for a date.

“Great.”

In another few minutes my phone rang again. This time it was Rafael on the other end.

“Hiya. It’s the driver, Rafael. Listen, I’m wondering if we can get together.”

“Uh…what about your passenger?”

“What about him?”

For the next week Daniel and Rafael BOTH called me every day. I guess I assume that if a woman hands out her phone number in an obvious, 80-mile an hour kind of way, the two car-mates would decide among each other who would pursue that relationship.

I guess in other social circles that’s not the case. Obviously.

Several months ago I asked, who should pay on a first date? Quite a few of you answered and I think the answer is pretty clear. Whoever asks for the date should pay for the date. That sounds fair to me.

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One of the best sales people I’ve ever met was at the Clarins Beauty Counter at Nordstrom’s.

After my “free” make over she managed to peak my interest on $280 worth of product. I wanted each tube of whatever botanical cream, oil, and lotion that promised ultimate beauty. The only problem is that I didn’t like the damage it would do to my wallet.

After voicing my concern and refusing a $40 bottle of eye serum the saleswoman said, “If this product will last you one month that brings this to $3.20 a day. That’s the cost of a cup of coffee. Would you be willing to give up coffee every day for a more beautiful, confident self?”

Absolutely I would and I did. And I keep doing it. In fact once that month was up I did it with other things. Like my beautiful Elaine Turner Gretchen handbag that cost me $240. I figured that if I gave up my daily latte ($4), one lunch out a week ($13), and two happy hours that month ($30), then voila. My Gretchen is paid for.

Next month I’m forfeiting my gym membership and running outside. I have my eyes on a pretty wallet to match.

A close friend of mine has more courage than most women in their 20s. Not only did she eagerly take on a move to New York City and a challenging career, she can in the midst of complete disarray notice a hot doctor when she sees one.

Kayla was suffering from a serious flu. She couldn’t hold anything down and having gone two days without fluids or sleep she starting seeing stars. This is when two of her friends took her to the emergency room. She was instantly pumped full of fluids by the nurses and inspected by the doctor. The gorgeous, young doctor.

At first sight of the doctor Kayla cheered up attempting to look and feel better than she really did. But despite her efforts her lab work still showed signs of troubled kidneys and that required a physical exam.

After another couple of hours of tests, pokes, prods, and one more IV, Kayla was allowed to go home, but not before the doctor handed an information sheet with hospital address and home number. Through her foggy vision, she saw a love connection.

Was he extra gentle with the stethoscope? Did he take a second too long to brush the hair away from her neck when he looked in her ears? The way he smiled when she said she felt fine–did that glance last a second too long too? When he patted her back while she puked into a bucket, was that normal patient care?

Leaving the emergency room that afternoon, Kayla tucked the information sheet neatly in her purse because she knew she’d be needing that information soon. Not for her flu, but for her heart.

Twenty-four hours later Kayla found pen and paper and wrote:

Dear Hot Doctor,

Thank you for your attentive care this last Sunday in the ER. After a full 24-hours I feel much better and have you to thank. I do not mean to make an inappropriate step here, but I’m writing to give you my phone number. I felt a spark when you took my temperature, and it wasn’t my fever.

I hope to hear from you soon. 567-5309.

-Kayla

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Believe it or not, he called. But only to say that she wasn’t out of line and that he was married.  No love connection for Kayla, but major good karma points for taking the risk and trying to date her doctor.