Along with everything else, one of the many wonderful things about dating in the 90's is the embarrassment factor. We single folk get to experience lots of embarrassing situations that are often the material of bad jokes. I mean after all, we are 30+ and dating strange people, whose phone number we got from a newspaper, voice mail, or even a dating service. And just why are we doing this crazy dating thing? Because, somewhere deep, deep, deep down, we hope that by miracle of miracles, this next person will be the one. The One.

Where's Shakespear? Where's the Marx Brothers? Is this the stuff of great tragedy and great humor? We don't like to admit it, but it's true. Dating really isn't fun. But what about 'The One'?

And just what do we think about while we're driving to this 'first date'? First, we pray that they are not ugly (at least, no uglier than us). We pray that they know how to speak, and do so of their own free will. We pray it will go well, dinner with this stranger. Maybe we get a little optimistic. Maybe we pray for something nice. What would be nice? Good wine? Good shrimp? Good cheesecake? Could they be The One (deep, deep, deep down)? I mean, just why are we having dinner with this stranger anyway?

And this first date dinner conversation often has a light, airy content. Just casual, get-to-know-this-stranger questions like 'do you want children', and 'if you wanted to, could you move' and 'how do you feel about your partner having a career' and 'what religion would your child be if you partnered with someone of a different faith' and 'if my next partner has just one affair, I'm out of there like a bat out of hell' and other light stuff like that. Then, often, the conversation turns to war stories. Tales from the crypt. Tales of the EX. Tales of financial ruin, deceit, treachery, adultery, abuse, bad sex. Wine anyone? Shrimp? Cheesecake?

Just the word dating' has nasty connotations. It conjures up visions of being 19 again, nervous, inexperienced and feeling like a clod. Except now I'm 40+, nervous, inexperienced and feeling like a clod. I don't like feeling 19 again. I don't have enough hair for it. I remember some little things about being 19, like carrying a condom in my wallet. This was not because of any real threat of imminent sex, but rather, this was a statement of the possibility of sex.

And it also reminds me of those horrible times at 19, when I had to go to my local pharmacy to buy some condoms . It's great that at 19 I'm finally sexually active, but I didn't want the Pharmacist, Mr. O'Doole to know it. I don't want this guy to think I'm a sex nut or anything, so I buy a little extra stuff to take the attention off that little box of Trojans's. Not much stuff, just a nail clipper, some shampoo, vitamins, a card for my mother's birthday (a mere 7 months away), some sugar-free gum, tooth paste, and a hardcover edition of the latest best seller. This way Mr. O'Doole will know that at least I am well groomed and well read (as well as being a sexual deviant).

Now, I'm over 40 and it's even better. Aside from all the AIDS pamphlets on display, now there a Ms. O'Doole behind the counter. So guess what I have to buy now to camouflage my intentions! These condom buying trips are costing me a fortune, as well as cluttering up my house. One day, I wish I had the courage to just slap down a dozen, NO, 3 dozen condoms on the counter. Nothing else. Just condoms. "Is that all?" says my friendly (Ms.) pharmacist. "No, wait" says I, as I slap down another dozen. "Some for tomorrow". "Anything else?" she asks. "Oh gosh, what a silly mistake" I say, as I put the 4 dozen condoms back on the shelf and replace them with the Paul Bunyan' size. Full speed ahead, and Ms.O'Doole be dammed!!

Any of this stuff ever happen to you? Anyway, gotta go now. It's time to return some things to the pharmacy.