When it comes to dating, I feel a little sorry for the men out there. Because in a meet-and-greet environment, it is usually up to the man to make the first move. And for every woman who is amenable to an advance, I imagine that there is at least one who has said no, if not more.
So I respect the man who can get back on the horse time and time again. However, my patience wears thin when tenacity turns to foolishness. After a certain point, you need to get back on the horse and ride away.
Take for instance, The Deacon, a man who has been trying to catch a break from my hairstylist. My mother described him as “having a young face and an old body,” because he is in his late 30s and is shaped like Grimace. I have seen The Deacon try to talk to Lisa at least three times, and I only go to the salon every two or three weeks.
Here’s a recap.
Strike One. The Deacon approached Lisa and tried to get her number. He told her that he is a good man. As a matter of fact, he said, he is a deacon at a prominent church in the area. Too bad that he didn’t know that my father is a deacon, and Lisa asked my mother to check into his story. It didn’t pan out, and he got no digits.
Strike Two. The Deacon appeared one Saturday afternoon, pretending to need a haircut. He brought a doe-eyed preteen with flowing locks with him, claiming that she was his goddaughter. He’s loves the kids, he declared, putting his arm around the girl’s shoulder for emphasis. Lisa was not impressed. I don’t even think that she looked up what she was doing.
Strike Three. The Deacon showed up this past Saturday with a Bom-Pop, one of Lisa’s favorite summertime treats. He took a seat in the waiting area until a barber was ready to see him. He eventually made his way back to the shampoo area, where Lisa was washing my hair.
“So, uhm, do you still have that phone number I gave you?” He tugged on a too-tight nylon grey short set that was highly unflattering on his weeble-wobble frame.
I closed my eyes and tried to be invisible. I felt Lisa’s hands digging into my scalp. “I think so.”
“Are you going to use them?”
“I don’t know. I really can’t think about that right now.”
“What’s there to think about?”
Lisa’s rinsed my hair with too-hot water. “I’m busy with my customers, and I’ve got my real estate work.”
“Where do you live? Please don’t say it’s with a man.”
“No, I live with my sister.”
“Oh, thank goodness. So, are you going to call?”
“Maybe, I don’t know.”
“You’ve been saying maybe for months!” At this point, I opened my eyes and coughed to hold back the laughter.
“Ma’am, don’t I look like a nice guy to you?”
I coughed again. “I’m sure you’re a nice person.”
“Thank you! See,” he pointed to me. “Your customer thinks I’m nice. Don’t you think she should call me?”
“Maybe she’s not interested.”
He stuttered. “Well, see, uhm, I’ve asked her if she is interested, and…”
I held up my hand, shook my head, and whispered my message again. “She’s not interested.”
The Deacon fumbled for a few moments before asking Lisa for a hug. He blocked her path so that she couldn’t get out of between the two shampoo bowls. I don’t know what the hell she was thinking when she gave it to him. He damn near skipped out of the salon.
I don’t agree with Lisa’s soft-hearted tactics. There is a way to let a guy down easy and let him know to take a hike. It’s a tough skill to master for some, but the “maybe-let-me-think-on-it” approach will only drag out the inevitable.
On the other hand, this man needs to take the hint. He has been coming up empty for months. No phone number. No calls. No dinner invitations. She hardly looks his way when he comes into the shop.
So, Deac, if, by some miracle, you are reading this, please let it go. She is not, and will not, be interested. And even if you decide to keep trying, please do it in the presence of some other customer. I am paying good money for her time, and I would like that time to be undivided.
Don’t be surprised if you see a future entry about how I asked The Deacon for a few dollars to put on my hairstyle. I have a feeling that I haven’t seen the last of him.