By the fifth woman, I started noticing a pattern.
Every single first date happened there.
And none of those women ever called him again.
Not one.
The Women Seemed Perfectly Nice
This was the part I couldn’t understand.
Dad wasn’t some unpleasant man.
He was seventy-two, retired, healthy, polite, and generally easygoing.
He wasn’t wealthy, but he was financially comfortable.
He dressed neatly.
He listened when people talked.
He didn’t drink heavily.
And according to him, the dates themselves seemed to go reasonably well.
“There were no arguments,” he’d tell me.
“So why didn’t she want another date?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you say something inappropriate?”
“No.”
“Did you talk about Mom too much?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Did you talk about yourself too much?”
He looked offended.
“I’ve learned my lesson from your mother.”
I laughed.
But the mystery remained.
Then Dad met someone named Elaine.
He seemed particularly excited about her.
