My Place or Yours? by Roger Woodcock

Allison and I met through a dating agency.  I`ve been a widower for almost two years and try as I might, I can never get use to being on my own. Loneliness. That`s really the name of the game. Going home to an empty house, sitting by yourself in front of the TV, seeing couples together on your daily walk in the Park. 

    I have never considered online dating. `Isn`t that for real sado`s,` I`d said to my daughter over one of our weekly zoom calls.

    `Give it a try dad,` she`d pleaded. `Who knows, you may find the love of your life.`

     `I` ve already lost the love of my life,` I replied forlornly.

     But to appease my daughter, whom I love dearly, I succumbed. 

     I arranged to meet Allison in the local hostelry, a somewhat run down establishment, but neither of us having transport of our own, it was conveniently on a bus route for both of us. 

    So there I am, my brain rehearsing my opening gambit before Allison makes her appearance. Perhaps a perfunctory hug, don`t want her to think I`m a sex maniac. Mind you that will be on her mind too I expect, sex.  `My place for coffee? Isn`t that a euphemism for `come back to mine for a bit of  embarrassed fumbled sex?   

    And then there she is, more than a hint of grey, a little plump perhaps, but then don`t we all put on a few pounds with age, and a smile that says she`s absolutely petrified.

   I look at her, flash my newly acquired dentures and gesture to the empty seat beside me.  `Come on, I don`t bite.` Alright, not the best opening line but Allison didn`t seem to mind, and we have arranged to meet again, so, who knows?

Selected: Weekly Write #18

to be published in Issue #31

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