Singleton, the status of being single, where true happiness is found within, or kiss a lot of frogs on your quest to find a prince.”— Sandra Rae

‘Retire to Florida and live the great life,’ my single friends declared. —Great life? — They sit on a bench and feed pigeons for entertainment. The pigeons reap the reward of munching on free breadcrumbs then show their appreciation by crapping on everyone and everything. One sneeze from a pigeon and I’d be out of there. My merry band of single friends has expired, and not because they neglected to get vaccinated from bird flu.

My friends in the area where I live, all married, always direct our conversations toward my Singleton status.

“Tomorrow is Saturday, what are your plans? We’re having a dinner party, we’d invite you, but everyone’s married.”

“I have no plans; watch TV maybe or read.”

“You’re staying home on a Saturday night you poor thing. No date, I feel so sorry for you.”

Sorry for me? This isn’t high school, are dates mandatory on a Saturday night at 58?

That supposedly sympathetic statement about being alone on a Saturday night converted a once sane woman into a serial one-hit-wonder dater. Now my ‘reputation’ at my favorite eating-place is in ruins — I always meet the next up-to-the-minute date (frog) at the same diner.

With hundreds of choices, I choose an online dating site using the Eenie-Meenie-Miney-Mo technique. Profile written, pictures uploaded, I’m finished, or so I thought. Oops, I missed the 20-page questioner that scientifically unearths your match. Three hours later, I sat back and waited. Did it uncover matches; nope, I acquired a computer generated message, ‘The exclusiveness in what you’re seeking in a man, along with your prior relationship issues, leads us to find no matches on this planet. Good luck in your search, please try another site.’

Frustrated, I navigate to another site. Process repeated, I hit enter, fate now in the hands of the online dating Gods. Low and behold, they find matches. I troll the site, fishing through pictures. Nope, nope, nope, call me shallow, but their picture is a decisive factor. As I troll, a beep indicates a live one is on the hook. Emails lead to phone calls, which leads to–us meeting at the same diner.

The first inkling I was dealing with an abnormal frog came with the reality he had welded the passenger door closed, from the inside. Struck by a fallen tree, so he claimed. An elusive thought disturbed me about that door, though my mind couldn’t grasp the thought at that moment.

Inside the small diner, we ordered. Before the coffee arrived, with a snap of his gum he inquired, “What color panties are you wearing?”

Much as a deer caught in headlights, there were seconds for a decision. Execute a run, Bambi, run maneuver, or eat and then run. Hungry, I grazed before the plate hit the table.

“You will be my ‘Wow factor’, wearing zebra panties.”

Wham, the elusive thought strikes me. There was no damage on the door.

On your mark, get set, run. Still chewing, I grabbed my purse, and dashed out, home free–well almost home free. Once home, I found the 17 voice mails he left. As I push seven for delete, I think, cinco dos, adios.

I’d continue on the subject of frogs, however the following list of rants forestall boring details.

*

To the frog that brought me flowers—Uhm, always remove the ‘In Loving Memory’ card. I know the cemetery is a block away.

To the frog that claimed he was divorced—Uhm, stash your wedding ring. Oh, and thanks for the $25 gift card I added to your tab as I departed.

To the frog on his fifth double vodka and tonic—Thanks for leaving cash on the bar; that $60 paid for cab fare home and a pedicure.

To the frog that forgot his wallet—Uhm, there’s a window in the lady’s room, or there’s always the kitchen exit.

To the frog that posted pictures taken at 56 but was actually 65—Uhm, visually impaired appeared nowhere in my profile, did you think I wouldn’t notice?

To the frog that whined his daughter was a hooker and unemployed—Uhm, she’s a hooker, the oldest profession in the world, she’s gainfully employed.

I’ll tell you I kissed a frog in my quest for a prince, I’ll tell you I have a date this Saturday night. I will tell you whatever you must hear, to enjoy Singleton and my peace within.