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word of every
song.
    During the song
‘ Fire and Rain ’,
one of my friends reached behind the girl next to me and grabbed my
arm; pulling me toward her.
    Smiling, she cupped her hand next to my
ear and said, “Try not to be obvious, but look who is in the row in
front of us!”
    She used her thumb to point over her
shoulder. When she was back in her place, I casually looked in that
direction.
    It was him! He turned and looked back
over his date’s head just as I was looking his way. I immediately
jerked my head back and tried to concentrate on the singer directly
in front of me. My face was flushed. I did my best to appear
calm—and control my breathing. My heart was beating loudly in my
ears, almost drowning out the drumbeat on stage.
    Don’t look. Don’t look. I felt as if a
magnet was pulling my head to the side. I closed my eyes. I knew:
if I looked at him and our eyes met—something was there.
    I took a deep breath and opened my
eyes. Slowly, I leaned forward and timidly looked his way. There he
was—looking back at me with that same wide, knowing grin he had
flashed at the gas station.
    Just then, I heard the words of the
song being sung, “I always thought that I’d see you, baby, one more
time again. Thought I’d see you, thought I’d see you one more time
again.”
    And this time; I smiled at
him.

Chapter 7
    Web
    He knows I exist! The conundrum I faced
was: just how was I to go about reaching out to him? I had already
made so many mistakes which led to my chronic status as a single
thirty-something woman. I knew ‘The Rules’ like the back of my
hand: never ever call a man; if he calls, never ever answer, always
wait at least 3 days before returning his call; never ever sleep
with a man before you have a commitment; never ever tell a man you
love him first; always make a man chase you; never ever chase a
man.
    Good grief! If I followed all of those
rules, I might as well embrace my title of
“old-maid-crazy-cat-lady-on-the-block”. I had read and re-read the
rules. I had watched and re-watched every episode of every season
of Sex in the City. I had to think and re-think this situation.
This was big—huge! I couldn’t mess this one up. How could I reach
him without breaking the rules?
    Time passed. It was mid-November. Every
day, I thought of him. This was ridiculous! I felt like a
school-girl again—it had been that long since I had suffered a
crush like this! Someone had more than likely beat me to the punch.
I knew a man like him wouldn’t stay unattached for long. I had to
think of something and find a way to get to him. Oh, God—was I
turning from the “old-maid-crazy-cat-lady-on-the-block” into a
pathetic, obsessive stalker?
    None of my girlfriends actually knew
him personally. Just like me, they were younger than he was and
only knew of him through his family. So there was no one I could
petition to introduce us. For some reason, I refused to give up
hope of meeting him someday.
    I poured myself a glass of wine and sat
down to decompress from another hectic day. The phone rang. It was
one of my girlfriends on the other end of the line. She excitedly
told me she had a rather tasty morsel of information for
me.
    “ You won’t believe who
actually has a profile on Match.com!” she squealed.
    I replied, “No way! What’s his user
name?”
    She answered, “His name without the
vowels—just type in his name using consonants only. It shows he
hasn’t been online in a couple of weeks. But if you send him a
message, it will be forwarded to his email. This is your ticket,
girl! Go for it!”
    Ah ha! The rules didn’t say a darn
thing about snagging someone on the worldwide web! So I hung up the
phone and fired up the computer. Although I had told myself I would
never resort to becoming a member of an online dating service, I
didn’t waste any time signing up and creating my
profile.
    Of course, my profile was under a
surreptitious pseudonym and did not contain any pictures.