Blind Date(5)

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But I'm still thinking he may be closer to fifty. Unfortunately, no matter how great of a guy he may turn out to be, I know it won't work. I really don't think I can get over the age difference. I can do friends. Yes, friends. God, I'm going to kill Taylor. Kill her, and then bury her body in a shallow grave. Something completely unclassy.

But, if I'm going to get back into dating, I need to practice being in these types of situations. Besides, I wouldn't want someone to be rude to me if I wasn't their type. It's nerve-racking enough to be on a date, let alone to be rejected. I'm not that cruel. I can make conversation. I can be friendly. At least I'm out of the house, right?

"So what brings a beautiful girl like you to a dating site?" Greg asks me.

"I lost my husband four years ago, and I wanted to get back out there again, I guess."

To give him credit, Greg doesn't flinch, freak out, or take a staggering step back at the news that I lost my husband. I've not had many men try to talk to me since I lost Raymond, but the few that have seem to lose interest quickly when I mention that I'm a widow. I don't understand why, but it's like something in their minds just switches off and they do an instant retreat. Greg's eyes soften as he says, "I'm sorry to hear that. That must have been very difficult."

See? He's a nice guy.

I smile, and relax my shoulders just a touch, trying to take deep breaths and get comfortable. I realize I'm nervous, regardless of my lack of attraction to Greg. "Thank you. What about you, Greg? What brings you into the dating world?"

He shrugs and holds my eyes with his. "I just want to meet someone, get my life together. I don't want to spend the rest of my life living alone. I'd like a family. The universe wasn't presenting someone to me, so I figured I'd take a step and see what was out there."

Aw. He's kind and he seems smart. I don't know why he would have to lie to get a date. I'm sure there are plenty of lovely women out there in his age range who would like a chance with someone like him.

"That's a good goal to have."

This still feels a little awkward. If Greg notices, he certainly doesn't show it. His posture is relaxed, he's got an easy smile on his face, and he's sipping his drink like he's quite comfortable.

"Yes, I think so too," he continues. "I've been on a few dates, but all the women in my age range just aren't up to my standard. So I'm finding it really hard to find someone to connect with, you know?"

Silence.

Dead silence.

I blink.

Did he just say not up to his standard? 

"Not that I'm picky," he says quickly, clearly seeing the horrified look I just presented him with. "But I just have a type. It's hard when you know what you want, but have to twist things around to get it. I don't want to come across as sleazy. We all have a picture in our mind, don't you think?"

I blink again.

He's kidding me, right?

No. I must be reading him wrong. Surely he did not just say those words and mean them. I must be misunderstanding him. Because, if I'm not, it all suddenly makes sense. The lying in his profile. How comfortable he is around me, considering his age. No. I must be wrong.

"And your picture is?" I ask, my voice a little horrified.

He looks sheepish. "I prefer someone younger than myself, pretty is a must, slim in build, funny, stable job. Just the usual things a man looks for. You don't think that makes me shallow, do you?"

Yes.

Yes I freaking do. I'm horrified. If he had just said he wants a successful woman, no problem. Or a funny woman, totally okay. But a young, skinny, pretty woman  …  not okay. Never okay. That is bordering on shallow, and I don't appreciate shallow men. And here I thought I was being superficial when I first saw him. That was nothing compared to him.

Swallowing the insult I want to throw at him, I say through gritted teeth, "There are plenty of lovely, pretty women in your age range though, right?"

His eyes dart to the left, then back to mine. "Yes, but as I said, I prefer the younger ones, at least ten years my junior. I don't think that makes me a bad person. Please don't think I'm a horrible man. I just figure we only get one good shot at it, might as well go for what you know you want. I mean, I wouldn't want to hurt anyone because they weren't my type and I was just with them to avoid ‘being honest' with myself."

He. Did. Not.

I stare blankly at him. I can't fathom his words. I honestly can't. I understand having a type, I also understand not going for someone who doesn't work for you because you don't want to hurt them-like this situation, for example-but this man is being  …  he's just being  …  an asshole.