Woman on the Verge of Paradise: Disappearing Act

Thanks for joining this Woman on the Verge of Paradise, a chronicle of my transition from the San Francisco Bay Area to Chico, CA. If you're new to Life by Chocolate, or just madly trying to catch up with your blog reading (Can we ever truly catch up?), this non-fictional story begins here. While I strive for accuracy regarding place and time, I alter names as I see fit. Note that Mojo's real and he's a real rascal of a cat.

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Hmm, where’d they go? There were tons of them just minutes ago. I snap my head to the left, scan the scene, and come up empty. A quick take to the right reveals the same. I pat my bed covers and lift the pillows. Nope, nobody’s on my bed. That’s strange. There’s gotta be a man around here somewhere. I squat to check under my bed. Aha! I found one, but it’s just Mojo.

That darn feline glares up at me with an expression of “What?! Somebody’s gotta warm up this room!”

Okay Mojo. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, either you go or I go. And I ain’t going. Got it? By the way cat, what happened to all the suitors? You know, all those men who were emailing and calling and going so far as to actually date me, or to possibly suggest trying to meet sometime before the end of the world, if they have time and because they were really interested. Yeah. It was going on for weeks and there were so many of them, like two.

Mojo offers a “Get over it lady, you’s touched” expression and rushes off for lunch.

I plop onto my bed, lean against the bedpost and reflect on heartwarming memories.

Why just last week, Larry was calling six times a day. He’s a high-powered businessman, perfectly nice, and liberal minded. We enjoyed a pleasant dinner at La Hacienda on our first date and a friendly hike in Bidwell Park on our second.  Phone tag ensued for several weeks.

“I’ll call you back in 75 minutes, after I put the kids to bed,” he told me.

That was six days ago and the last time we spoke. I’m feeling for those kids; it’s hard to stay awake so many days in a row.  Maybe, just maybe, he’ll put them to bed tonight and call me.  [I’m keeping the phone juiced just in case.]

But it’s okay either way, because Paul’s the man. Oh that Paul, he gives good email--prolific in content and devoid of typos. Paul and I have so much in common, like we live in Northern California and I’m sure there’s other stuff.  So after weeks of correspondence, he suggested a possible tentative meet-up for the following week. “I think I can definitely do that,” he kind of confirmed. I was smitten.

“It’d be great to meet. You name the date and time. I’ll work around your schedule.” I couldn’t have been more accommodating.

The morning of the prospective possible date arrived and Paul emailed: “The confluence of events has occurred. My dog got sprayed by a skunk, the kids have soccer practice this week, family is coming to town and blah blah blah with no apology…This is the life of a single parent. Sigh.”

Overwhelmed by confluence, Paul suggested I date someone less busy. In turn, I decided to look up “confluence” and avoid anyone who expels such verbiage.

Moreover, I realized my dating life has become one of friends with benefits, without the friendship. Or the benefits. 

At least I’ve got Mojo. 

Hey… Mojo! Mojo! Where are you? A quick take to the left and right again. Nope. I pat down my bed and lift the pillows. No sign of him.

I squat and our eyes meet. His glance says it all: “You’s touched but I’m still gonna keep this space warm.”

That’s my boy!