Romance, finis

For about 10 years, I have used the same line: Valentine's Day is like Hanukah. It's a holiday that doesn't apply to my people. I don't begrudge other people in celebrating it, and I don't use it as an excuse to feel inadequate. Just like Manishevitz never makes me feel bad about being an Irish-Italian gentile, the onslaught of advertising for diamonds and lingerie has never made me pine for a boyfriend. If anything, I sort of feel bad for all the men who get pressured by Hallmark into really awkward gift-buying and manufactured romance. I've always been happy that it wasn't something I had to deal with, much like 8 nights of playing dreidel with Uncle Saul.

Though I've had a predominently male social circle for as long as I can remember, I have very little experience with the standard mechanics of dating. I don't have much patience for the the rules I'm supposed to follow. If I like someone, I tell him so. I don't wait three days to return emails just to be coy. Because I find The Game so inherently tiresome and inefficeint, I content myself with my stable of adopted brothers. Even so, I take the whole business of dating rather seriously. It really takes a lot for me to sit up, bat my eyes and throw myself into the fray, so I choose my prospects carefully. I wouldn't say that I'm picky. I'm extremely flexible as far as age, location and employment. But I do require a high level of compatibility - for instance, if he's deeply offended by the occasional dead baby joke? Red flag.

A couple of weeks ago, I went out on my first real date in almost 5 years. I met him, quite unexpectedly, at last month's poker game. He asked me (twice) in all seriousness if I was flirting with him. As I mentioned, I'm not really known for my subtlety. I liked him immediately and didn't really care if he knew it, which I think is a felony in some states. Nevertheless, he seemed interested, called when he said he would, and we went out on a Saturday night. It all seemed kind of unreal - he was cuter than I remembered him, we talked effortlessly, and he laughed at most of my jokes. I had a great time. As it turns out, he didn't.

Defying my every impulse toward fatalism, I spent a few days trying to convince myself against what I knew was true. But no amount of positive thinking makes the phone ring. It's one of those classic cases where there can be no closure or even the satisfaction of finding out where you went wrong (for purely informational purposes, of course, as opposed to masochism). As I said to Chris the other night, "You think you want to get that email, but really, you don't."

I'm disappointed, but of course these things happen. It's just that the timing could have been a little better. I don't necessarily feel bad about the fact that I'm going home tonight to watch "Law & Order" and sort my laundry. But I've noticed that I have decreasing patience for the incessant Match.com commercials. "It all starts with a look." Right - and it ends with what? An ill-advised anecdote? Wearing the wrong shoes? I guess I'll never know.