Skip to main content

How to Choose a Date in Five Easy Steps

(I figured with three marriages under my belt, I have some expertise, so gather round my children.)
Rule # 1:  Never date a man with better hair or a better chest than you. (Enough said, this needs no further explanation.)
Rule # 2: You can always judge a man by how respectfully and lovingly he treats his mama (better yet, check out how he treats his ex-wife or ex-girlfriends). 
Rule # 3: Date within a ten-year range of your real age (yes, the one on your birth certificate) instead of using the old rule: dividing your age by half and subtracting and adding that number onto your present age. It just doesn’t make sense; the span is too large.
If you’re thirty, the old rule okays dating anyone between 15 – 45 years old.  Besides ending up in jail and on national news, studies have proven that the brain of the middle-aged male and a male teenager function similarly. Do you want a date or to babysit?
It gets even more disparate if you are a 60 year old.  The range then spans 30-90 year olds.  Really?  Come on.

I like my math formula better.  Give or take ten years from your real age and date within that age group.

Rule # 4:  Are you seeing a pattern here?  Start off with expectations.  Make a list.  Decide what you must have in a date partner. Okay, so he isn’t as tall or as handsome as you wanted, but he is kind and attentive; it is not okay when he treats his cat/his car better than he treats (his or your) children.

Rule #5:  On a more serious note, nurture those same traits in yourself that you expect in others – a sense of humor, respectful to others, mature, kind, attentive, etc. In a day and age where everyone considers intimacy a random act, be the one who doesn’t because you have more to offer and you have self-respect. Being “old-fashioned” never goes out of style.  Never settle for less than you are worth.

Now get out there and date.


  1. In defense of people who have to get up and go to the bathroom too often...I'm one of those...and it's bad enough to BE one of those people without having others JUDGE you for being one of those people. I've been to numerous doctors, but my stomach, still, develops its own mind when I'm sitting in an audience. I can either get up and go to the bathroom...or embarrass everyone around me. Remember, Raquel, church-going folks are admonished not to be too judgmental. Just sayin. I guess that's one more reason I don't go to church anymore!

  2. What about 12 years?


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Happy Breastday to Me!

I gave myself a very special birthday present this year – I had surgery. Before you think it was to increase, decrease, or “lift” something, let me tell you it was not cosmetic (though I could probably use a few nips and tucks at my age; the infinite number of creams I buy OTC are not working their promised magic). About four or five months ago, I discovered a hard lump about the size of a large marble in my left armpit.  I had been feeling small pangs of pain in my left chest for several months, but I figured it was just my turn to dance with heart disease.  Everyone in my immediate family is diabetic and suffers from strokes or heart attacks, so I thought – here we go; my turn. I was going to tell my internist about the pangs during my next visit, so imagine my surprise when I discovered the lump. The Drama Queen in me immediately manifested herself – cancer, I thought.  I have cancer. I searched some more and found that the texture on the left side of my left breast felt diffe

Teenagers: Stinky Little Extraterrestrials

Years ago, a skunk sprayed our yard during the night and the next     morning I trekked out to my car to drive to work and unknowingly stepped into the oily residue. I tracked skunk stink into my Jeep and onto the carpet in my office, a room I shared with a kind and forgiving co-worker. It took a week or two and several large cans of Lysol and air freshener to get rid of the smell. Ever since my profound Close Encounter of a Second Kind (I never saw the skunk but it left evidence of its presence), I became a skunk expert. I learned the way of the skunk. My experience imprinted itself into my hippocampus and I acquired a heightened sense of smell.  I can detect a skunk several miles away, outperforming a normal human nose that can only start to do the same at one mile. I have the same uncanny sense about adolescents.  After 30-plus years of teaching teenagers and having raised three of my own, you might say, I have reached the Close Encounter level of a Fifth Kind: I have actually

Dating Challenged

I stink at dating – always have.   I sputter.   I hyperventilate.   I fail miserably every time. I blame a pathetically underdeveloped gene that got little use before I married in my early twenties, then atrophied, gathering dust and rust, until I became single again in my fifties.   I decided to use this defect to my advantage when I needed to do some investigative reporting a few years back.   While on a newspaper writing assignment on Boomer-aged dating, I sacrificed my dignity and my vanity for the sake of the story (and I got several). Thank goodness, HoneyBunch saved me from all this when we married.  (He comes up with the best dates.) I’ve decided I will “show you mine if you show me yours.”   I will swap dating horror stories with you, but you have to promise to play along. The trick here is to tell about your worst date in 25 words or less.   You must keep it clean and you cannot name names. Our little contest will run only this week and before my next blogger posting.   Me