At exactly 8 p.m., I heard a knock on the door and opened it after inviting a man over for a romantic dinner. When I saw it, I froze.
When I started looking at men again, my friends thought I was crazy. I was 54 when my husband left me. All I wanted was to feel passion and love again.
Then a new man came into my life. We periodically ran into each other in the park where we lived next door. After many conversations, we grew closer.
One day, he invited me to go out. I decided that I would host it at my home. I prepared food, candles, and music for the two of us in a beautiful and romantic manner.
At exactly 8 p.m., someone knocked on the door. I went ahead and opened it. And when he saw it, froze.
My new man arrived at the door without flowers, a gift, or any other sign of appreciation.
“Are you serious?” Hardly believing what I was witnessing, I asked.
Startled, he said, “What?”
“Where are the flowers and where is the emphasis?”
He smiled:
Which flowers? I am not old enough to be giving away “flowers.”
I sighed and suddenly understood:
I’m not a young girl who would pick men like you, either. Someone my age who can’t appreciate a lady in insignificant things is not someone I need. I tried to make everything romantic. You ought to leave me alone.
The door was closed, the candles were still burning, and the dinner was still not finished.
The next day I told my friends everything. Some said that I had done the right thing and that I shouldn’t take crumbs. Others suggested you have to cling to someone your age and that I had missed my last chance.
And I wonder: do we really need to be afraid of being alone if the alternative is to betray ourselves?
