So… several weeks have passed since my last entry, MATCH.COM or MATCH.CON. After having been disappointed with my options, disillusioned by the pickin’s, and dumped by a Trump supporter, I continued my effort in hoping to find a suitable match who met perhaps not all of my requirements but at least 75%. I am fully aware that no one is perfect, myself included, but I pride myself in knowing what I could live with and what I could live without-‐-‐ what I could not live with and what I could not live without. This takes self-‐exploration and self-‐examination. At my age, there is no point in fooling myself or trying to sell myself a bill of goods.
I continued my search and although I met a few lovely men, there was always something missing…chemistry. I tried to use rationalization to minimize the importance of chemistry at my age, but no matter how hard I tried, it didn’t work. The kiss at the door to say good-‐night always left me feeling grateful when they left.
I often consoled myself to the idea that I may have to come to terms with the fact that I might be alone the rest of my life. This was a fact I could not deny. It wouldn’t have been a fate worse than death as I had a full life, rich in work, family and friends. However, there was no denying that something was missing—the need to love and be loved by a man. There was always that glimmer of hope when I heard about other women my age who found a suitor, some whom even moved in together, and others who actually married. I was not looking for a live-‐in or marriage, just someone who I could enjoy as a good friend, lover and travel companion. I was more than willing to lower my standards and expectations with a good lover, as most men my age have prostate issues and women my age are estrogen depleted leaving great sex to the younger generation. I had to be realistic, so as long as he wasn’t an addict, a sociopath or borderline personality disorder, broke, or an overt codependent, it just might work. At this age, everyone has some baggage. It’s just something I would have to live with. After all, I had my own—three ex-‐husbands, a few live-‐ins and several assorted boyfriends as well as four living children, six grandchildren and two dogs. The best I could offer was my youthful good looks, intelligence, good sense of humor and an engaging personality. If I were fifty years old, I would have clinched this effort in a less than a week. However, I am who I am and my age is what it is!
I let the process meander without too much effort. I had other places to focus my energy between my work as a psychotherapist, writer and speaker, my home, my family, friends and my two fur babies, Motik and Minnie.
I received an inquiry from Frank visa vie Match on May 12. I scanned his profile and photos with casual interest and decided to respond leaving my email address. That same evening I received a response with interest to take it to the next step. I gave him my phone number and when I returned from work there was a voice message.
“Hi Joan. This is Frank D’Angelo, the guy from Match.com. I know it’s not an emergency so I won’t dial 911. But we did briefly agree to chat this evening, so here I am. If you get a chance to chat in the next few minutes, give me a call back. Thanks, and I hope to speak with you soon.”
I listened to his message intently a few times, picking up a Jersey accent and knew without a doubt, this guy was Italian, hoping not connected.
I went back to the computer to view his photos once more and although his profile said he was 72, he didn’t look a day over 50. “Old photos”, I thought, wondering why people put photos up on their site from 20 years ago. Neither the photos or ancestry dissuaded me from picking up the phone to call him. Anyone who looked that good twenty years ago couldn’t look that bad twenty years later.
We chatted briefly sharing clips of who we are and what we do and made a date for a few days ahead in the middle of the week. I suggested a local pizza joint which was five minutes from each of our homes. Imagine that! A guy who lives 10 minutes from me! Most of the men of interest were minimally 30 to 45 minutes north or south. At our age, a ten-‐minute drive sounded appealing to both of us!
Just two days prior to our scheduled meeting I tripped over a paver in my driveway smashing my arm, knee and bruising my elbow. I wiped myself off, thanking God that the fall had not broken any bones. Nevertheless, I was somewhat traumatized as well as grateful. I went to work the following day as if nothing had happened anticipating meeting Frank that same evening. A few hours into the day, I recognized the fall had more of an impact than I had realized, so I called letting him know of my fall and postponing the date for the following eve.
He was sympathetic, accepting the change of plans without hesitation.
I arrived at the pizza parlor as scheduled, perhaps a few minutes late. My eyes were drawn to a handsome young man who was strolling back and forth in front of the restaurant. “Too young to be Frank”, I thought.
I parked, and walked towards the door. “Hi! You’re Joni? Right?”
I looked at him in dismay. It can’t be him I said to myself. “Yes. That’s me” I said in a disbelieving tone. Frank?” “Yes, Frankie D’Angelo. Nice to meet you.”
I was stunned. This handsome, youthful looking Italian creature took my breath away.
“Where in the hell did he come from?”, I said to myself.
We ordered the pizza and shared our histories and interests, never leaving a moment of silence the entire time we were together.
As of this writing, I don’t recall anything that was spoken, only that I knew I had to see him again. We walked out the door after he paid the check. He kissed me gently on the lips and my life changed that moment in time in front of Conco’Doro’s pizza joint in Dania Beach, Florida.
It’s six weeks since that fateful eve when the miracle of love struck me with such a bolt that as I write this story, I am still stunned that Frankie D’Angelo, this amazing Italian guy from New Jersey would fall in love with me—a Jewish senior citizen, and a grandma of six grandchildren. Best of all, we live 7 minutes from each other!
So, the moral of the story is never give up! Chemistry is paramount! It’s the glue that keeps you together when things go awry.
Oh! And don’t leave good sex only to the younger generations! Thanks Match for finding my match and making my life richer!