My Date with "H"

Not to be confused with J-Date, an internet site for Jewish singles, although I probably could have found him on that site had I looked. I called him "H" because when I was entering his number into my phone I accidentally hit a button and that's what he was saved as in my address book. The name seemed to fit him. I believe his name was Harvey, Harry, Hubert...something like that...but not important. We'll just call him H. He was an anesthesiologist*...in other words "God". But, I have to say, he was funny. I enjoyed our conversations. He called me several times a day, saying that he liked talking to me, and he loved my voice (that's the way I remember it anyway). We would laugh, and talk about everything and anything. He had to go out of town for a week to visit relatives and in that time we probably talked three times a day, e-mailed, and texted back and forth. I looked forward to our phone calls.

When he came back from his trip we decided to finally meet. We met at an Indian restaurant that had outdoor seating, it was the middle of summer and about 80 degrees. It was a long day for me, I had met with one of my eccentric clients, who insists on taking my employees and I to lunch and buying us bottle after bottle of incredible wine (which I can't say no to). Yes, I did indulge, which might have to do with my complete lack of energy during the date (probably wasn't the smartest thing to do). I was already seated and waiting when he showed up, he was about 15 minutes late, but who was counting? He was muttering some excuse about not being able to find a parking space. I commiserated with him, but somehow I managed to show up on time. He was about 5'8", (not 5'10' like he wrote in his profile), black wavy hair, long on the top and short on the sides. His face was pleasant, not a hottie, but not bad looking. He was wearing black dress shorts, black loafers (which were both in contrast to his milky white legs), and a baby blue, short sleeved schmedium sweater (with a stain on it). Yes, I said schmedium, somewhere between medium and way too damn schmall. It looked more like a schmegnancy top with his swollen belly sticking out (could it be a baby bump?). I'm not trying to be mean, it's just an observation. After all, he doesn't have to be a "ten", or a clothes horse. But, where was that funny guy that I was having an affair with on the phone? No, seriously...where was he hiding him? Maybe under the sweater? Whoa! Back up...did I mention that he was 47 (yah...sure) never been married, and no children? Does self-absorbed commitment phobe, desperado, come to mind? Not at all fitting my criteria, but I made an exception because he had a good sense of humor, and sent me numerous e-mails asking me to do so. Anyway, I asked him about his parents, isn't it funny that we had never covered that subject before. Oops...wrong question...he started telling me how his mother left his father when he was very young, and how she was this right-brain, liberal, free spirited bohemian artist who lived in a commune in Canada. I'm getting this impression that he doesn't like his mother, maybe all women for that matter. He said she would visit him every couple of years but they were never close. He was obviously suffering from abandonment issues. His dad raised him and his two sisters all alone and didn't remarry. He gave me the impression that his father was controlling, I assumed that's why the mother left. Good for her! You go girl! So...why was he telling me all this on a first date? I was starting to empathize with his mother at this point, giving her credit for going through with the pregnancy. Our dinner conversation was pretty dry, he wasn't anywhere near the witty guy I had spoken to, and had become good friends with over the phone. I now have a hangover from lunch, and a splitting headache. He asks me if I want a drink? Uh...no thanks...(I've had enough) I'll stick with water...I have to drive. The waitress clears our plates and we continue to talk for about 15 minutes while we're waiting for the bill. He asked me where I parked, and I pointed south, he said he was parked in the other direction. So we said goodbye and each walked to our cars. Not the gentleman that I expected him to be. I went home and e-mailed him a short note saying that it was nice to meet him, thanked him for dinner, and said that I'd hoped to talk to him soon. After all, even though there was no chemistry I thought that we could still be friends. The next day, I checked for his reply, and nothing, the next day, nada. Hmmm...I emailed him again, with two words "no reply?". Still no response. Weird, I didn't think that I had said anything wrong. I smiled and went through all the motions. I have to say, I was a little pissed. A couple of weeks later I was telling the story and one of my girlfriends started laughing and said that she knew him. He worked at her surgery center on a rotating schedule. She said he was a little strange. Ya think? I asked her why she thought he didn't call me, and she said, she was pretty sure it was my nose ring (small diamond stud) and told me that he was conservative. Ahhh...makes sense now...I probably reminded him of his mother. Why can't men just be honest? All he had to do was e-mail me back and say that there wasn't a romantic connection...I would've said "ditto"... but I really did think we could've been friends. After all, I could've thrown him a baby shower.