White Bean Soup

I'm not a man-hater. Or a man-eater (although I must admit I really do love that song, esp. when my instructor plays it in spin class).

In fact, I like men. Not all men, but a lot of men. Then why have I made it to age 39 without marrying one of them? Well, thats a long story (which is another way of saying, "I have no idea").

I was talking on the phone to my mother today and saying that I'm grateful to be going through this fertility journey solo, rather than married to my 'Close Call' -- who we'll call Glenn (get it?). I explained that Glenn would not have been supportive and would have made me feel defunct because I can't carry a pregnancy to term. "And that", said my mother, "is exactly why you're not married to Glenn." Mom always comes up with the good points.

A few weeks ago I was at the Farmer's Market sampling an organic apple when suddenly I heard someone call my name. I turned around, with my mouth full, to see a guy who used to date an old friend of mine. They broke up after dating for 10 years and she moved away and married someone else. And divorced. And remarried. He also married someone else. And is now getting divorced. It was clear that he was going through a hard time and needed to speak to an old friend ... so we went out for a drink.

I spent several hours listening to the intimate details of his relationship, marriage, and break-up. Like most stories of this ilk, it was painful. He paid for my drink, walked me to my car, and we promised to get together again soon. As friends. I drove home thinking how nice it is to have a male friend with no strings.

A few weeks later I got an e-mail from him on a cold, rainy Saturday afternoon inviting me over to his house that night. To eat white bean soup. In front of a fire. Saturday night + homemade soup + fire = could it be?

No. Of course not. I'm imagining this. I called my friend Debbie to get her read. She hummed the theme song from a generic porno film. This is not a good sign. She then asked her husband who said something like, "Yeah, he wants sex".

Ah, transition sex. An understandable desire, but not one I can grant at the moment. It would be one thing if he was serving lobster bisque, but I certainly don't put out for white bean soup. A girl has to have standards.