My date cleared his throat and leaned in a bit closer across the table. "So what is it that you're looking for, exactly?" Sweet. Kind. Funny. Hip in the best sort of ways. Most people might have just nodded and said, "well, you, handsome."
But I didn't say that. Instead, I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.
I fumbled with my napkin, then managed to say, "Um, well, um, you know, I'm … not exactly sure."I mean, here's the thing: Of course I have a general sketch of what I'm looking for in love. Give me a lineup of men, and a few will rise to the top. Attraction's easy. There's those basic qualities we know we need (for me it's humor, kindness, intelligence, drive, confidence, and the ability to make breakfast foods, ha), but the rest? Well, it's completely undefinable. It's the X-factor. It's the wow.
Shortly after my marriage ended last year, I went on a few dates with someone (who ended up becoming a dear friend, and still is). At the time, I thought this man was perfect for me. He was a runner. Me too! He liked to cook. Same with me! He loved watching old Seinfeld re-runs. Um, yes! In truth, I wasn’t completely delusional: He was an all-around great guy. But at the time, fresh out of a marriage, I had no idea, really, what "perfect for me" actually meant.
He caught on to my Newly Single Confused State (this is a diagnosable psychological condition, I swear), and he backed away. "You need more time to figure out what you want," he said.
We were out to dinner. The main course had just arrived and I picked at my food, blinking back tears.
Was he breaking up with me?"Listen," he said. "Love is like ice cream."
I gave him the most annoyed look. "Huh?"
"Yeah, when you're dating you figure out what you like," he continued. "Maybe it's vanilla. Or salted caramel. Maybe you like sprinkles on top, chocolate sauce, or whipped cream, or both, or none."
I laughed a little. He reached for my hand.
"Sarah," he said. "You have no idea how you like your ice cream."
"But I do!" I contested.
"You don't."
I didn't.
He was right (and he knows it, to this day). And while, a year later, I'm closer to knowing how I like my ice cream, I still haven't found the right combo. (But, definitely no sprinkles, I know that.)
"You're too picky," one of my girlfriends told me recently.
Maybe I am. This is probably why I'll end up being a quirky 75-year-old cat lady, with a living room full of books and cocktail hour that begins everyday at 4 p.m. sharp. (Except that I can't really be a cat lady. I'm allergic to cats. Dogs? Definitely dogs.)
I've come close this year. Close to the epic and the real. A few times, so close it was actually scary. But for one reason or another, the ice cream sundae has never quite been the right recipe. And maybe that's OK. After all, I've known love in my life already. Perhaps that's enough.
And yet, I still like to think that I'll know it when I find it. Or maybe I've found it it already and I just haven't quite realized it yet. Or maybe I should skip the ice cream and just have some frozen yogurt?
(And, I took the above photo a few weeks ago on the Santa Monica Boardwalk with my (single, and handsome!)little brother. We both saw it and stopped and said, "aww, that's sad! Then we laughed. I love how siblings just get things, don't you?)
Readers, how do you like your ice cream (aka, what are you looking for in love)?