"An Evening With The Good Doctor"

I stayed in the car while the gals checked out the good doctor. I was all decked-out in a white linen-blend top and skirt, compliments of dear uncle Hymie, plus my ever-faithful huge, cubic zirconia bling-pin. Joyce had curled my hair. Overall, I looked pretty darn good.

Minutes later, the gals appeared—jumping up and down and giving the thumbs up.

“He’s a real hunky!” Cloe said, giving me the take-five.

“A silver fox!” Ruby added.

“Extremely handsome!” was Joyce’s comment.

In my haste to get out of the car, I fell and landed with my knees hitting the cement. Regretfully, there was no way to hide my scraped knees, ripped nylons and smudged white skirt. (Putting a purse in front of my legs didn’t exactly do the job.)

Elliot greeted me outside the theater with a smile that immediately made me blush. The man was even more handsome in person.

“You look very nice, and that’s a pretty outfit,” he said. (Thankfully, his eyes focused on my top, not the rest of me.)

“So do you,” I gushed, and felt immediately flustered. My face burned like it had spent an hour in a 500-degree oven.

“Shall we?” He took my arm and led me inside the theater. Instead of watching the play, I was preoccupied with stealing glances (discreetly through my fingers) at Elliot’s movie-star profile. If I were ever asked what the play was about, my answer would have been, “Gee. I don’t know.”

Afterwards, Elliot suggested getting a bite to eat at a nearby restaurant within walking distance. I felt extremely nervous and uncomfortable as I walked on the arm of this gorgeous man. What if I stumbled on those unbearably tight, painful heels that had not left my closet in years? Surely he’d notice my scraped knees, ripped nylons and dirty skirt. I was stuffed into an unbearably uncomfortable, butt-squashing, too-small foundation garment that had been sitting in my disheveled underwear drawer forever. In spite of practicing the old book-on-the-head routine before meeting this fantastic man, it took great effort to keep from limping, stumbling, tripping or waddling.

The restaurant was small and definitely Italian, with red and white checked tablecloths, Chianti bottles on the tables, artificial grapes on trellises, and pictures of the Italian countryside decorating the walls. Dean Martin was singing “That’s Amore” in the background. Dr. Elliot graciously pulled out a chair for me.   

The good doctor started the conversation by looking intently into my eyes and asking “Tell me about you.” (Why were men the ones blessed with long eyelashes?)

I froze, and could visualize my face turning every color of red. The words would just not come out. Elliot was just too perfect. Let’s face it. I was used to the less desirables.

After a long pause, he asked me again, waiting patiently for my answer.

“Uh...” I blubbered, dropping my napkin on the floor. “I am a…transbeeber, transvesti…I mean a tansblubber…”  I finally managed to blurt out “I’m a medical transcriber!”

“Oh?” he replied, obviously pleased. “We are in the same business. What kind of doctors do you transcribe for?” He picked up a glass and took a sip of water, his top lip curling up in such a sexy way. I experienced a burning flash and had to quickly look away.

Before answering, I raised a glass of water to my lips. My throat was dry, due to nervousness and sudden hormone activity. While attempting a dainty sip, I choked, and the water spurted across the table, barely missing the good doctor’s lap.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I stammered.

 “That’s perfectly all right,” he replied politely, wiping the wet spot in front of him with his napkin. “It could happen to anyone.”

“Orthopedic surgeon!” I finally got the words out and immediately hiccupped. I carried on for at least 10 minutes, with each hiccup followed by a “sorry.” Dr. Elliot suggested taking a drink of water, but I was mortally afraid to try that again. After nearly passing out from holding my breath, the hiccups finally stopped. The good doctor was now staring at me. It was hard to decipher his expression, but it was not very flattering. 

The waitress served our food. My choice was spaghetti and meatballs. I tried to smile at the good doctor, who was now avoiding all eye contact. To make matters worse, as I raised a fork full of spaghetti loaded with meatballs to my mouth, the whole wad fell onto my white blouse.

“Some water might help,” Elliot suggested.

Where was my napkin? It was on the floor. I disappeared from view to retrieve it. As I raised my head, he was looking at me.  Nervously, I dipped my napkin into a glass of water and rubbed. The spaghetti color spread. I now had one big orange boob. I quickly removed a long string of spaghetti wrapped around my bling-pin.

Could things get worse? They did. I could not eat another mouthful in front of this man for fear of another disaster, so I kept patting my face with my napkin, trying to look demure.Throughout dinner, the good doctor avoided looking at me. When he did glance over, he gave me such a discerning look that I wanted to crawl under the table and disappear.

After Elliot paid the bill, he came around to pull my chair out for me. In an attempt to stand up, my legs felt numb. I fell, landing on my over-sized rear on the floor, with my nose bumping the table on the way down. My purse went flying across the room. It took Dr. Elliot and a waiter to pick me up off the floor. Elliot walked me to my car, looked at his watch and said, “It was an interesting evening, Sandy. Good luck.”

Here was a date with a prince, and I was the frog. I never heard from the good doctor again. Who could blame him? Later, I looked in the mirror and discovered an orange mustache. My vow was to hide my froggy head inside the house and never come out again.

"The Little Man and the Gentlemen Callers"

Winchester created chaos right from the beginning of my ‘find a man’ quest, beginning with Harry, whom I contacted through a newspaper ad.  From what he wrote, Harry seemed like a nice guy. 

Things went pretty smoothly on our first date at the movies. I was not physically attracted to the man. He was much shorter then me, and resembled a small walrus with his over-sized, drooping mustache and protruding upper teeth. However, I enjoyed his company. He was fun to be with, intelligent and a good conversationalist. 

Harry asked me out for New Year’s Eve. Since I had nothing else to do, I readily accepted. Sitting at home alone with Winchester, his bed, his ball and his gas was not my idea of an exciting way to bring in the New Year. Since we didn’t want to deal with celebrating crowds, I suggested we spent a more quiet evening at my place, watching a good movie. Harry readily agreed. I opted for take-out pizza since my culinary efforts were more than awful. He offered to buy.

All three of us gorged ourselves with a delicious (no cheese portion for Winchester), extra-large pizza with all the trimmings. My little man loves pizza; however it doesn’t always set well with his gastric system. I sprayed the room vigorously with doggie deodorizer, just in case.

Then Harry and I settled down on my couch for an evening of Denzel Washington’s latest thriller out on DVD. Winchester’s bed was hidden, so that problem was out of the way. And he didn’t engage in his usual ball activity (swooshing the ball out of his mouth, frantically running after it, and knocking over everything in sight in the process). Instead, he sat down on the floor in front of us and watched our every move. I could have sworn he was glaring. When Harry tried to adjust his position or even scratch his head, Winchester let out a low growl. His actions seemed to annoy Harry, so I got up and pulled him by the collar out of the room. But I was no match for my dog’s brute strength. He wiggled loose from my grip and continued his watch in front of Harry and me. This was probably the only time he forgot about his ball, because he was too obsessed with the two of us sitting on the couch. He never took his eyes off my gentleman caller.

Less than 20 minutes into the movie, Harry suddenly jumped up. “Happy New Year!” he shouted, as he hurried to my door with Winchester nipping at his heels. Thank God he slammed the door fast behind him before my little man could chase him to his car. Moments after Harry left, Winchester settled down on the rug, let out a series of brummphs and immediately went to sleep. Such were the joys of that New Year’s Eve.