Millions of Women Are Waiting to Meet You (1 of 3 free samples)

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COPYRIGHT
Millions of Women Are Waiting to Meet You by Sean Thomas. Copyright 2006 by Sean Thomas.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

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MILLIONS OF WOMEN ARE WAITING TO MEET YOU
A Story of Life, Love, and Internet Dating

Sean Thomas

For Lenina


INTRODUCTION

How do you propose? I mean, what is the best way to propose? What's the right stage in a relationship to do it? Why, how, who? Where? Hello?

I'm stuck. I have this strange feeling that I want to propose to my girlfriend, Claire, right now, right here, on the roof of my flat as we sip warm Spanish champagne. But the momentousness of it is holding me back. I'm thirty-nine years old and it all seems too remarkable, too unexpected and frightening. Frankly, I'd come to the conclusion that this moment, THE moment, might never arrive; and maybe I never wanted it to arrive, for such a long time. And yet somehow the moment seems to have sidled into my life like a sweet little kid sneaking in the back door of the cinema.

I've been thinking of proposing for a while now. I've even had a few daydreams as to the best place. Last week, I had plans to do it in Venice, in a gondola, under a swooning Adriatic moon. The week before that, I considered taking my girlfriend to Paris, where we could do it walking the Tuileries Garden amidst the lilacs. Then I looked at my bank statement and thought that the local park might be nice, as long as it wasn't drizzling. But here I am sitting on the roof of my flat in London and I have a sudden urge to do it anyway, right now, right here.

My sudden urge to propose, and the consequent loss of my Venetian daydreams, is perhaps partly based on the proposal experience of a friend of mine. The other day when I was discussing my plans for popping the question, he told me his proposal story.

My friend did it properly. He did this big buildup to The Question and took his girlfriend to a beautiful part of Greece. He set up a lovely dinner with candles and chilled retsina and moonlit views of the twinkling Aegean. Then when he leaned forward across the crisp white tablecloth and took his girlfriend's delicate hand and said, "I have something to say," his girlfriend started weirdly trembling and then when he said, "My God what's wrong?" she said, "You're going to finish with me, aren't you, that's why you've brought me here! You bastard!" With that she went into a spaz-out, disappeared into the loos for three hours, and had to be slowly coaxed out and told that no, her boyfriend wasn't going to finish with her. My friend finally asked the big question in the back of a scruffy minicab as they returned to their Greek hotel.

So what does this tell me? I think it tells me that portentous buildups to romantic moments can be somewhat counterproductive. And so that's one of the reasons I am suddenly thinking: Now. Here. Do it. A further thought that is egging me on is that somehow this is the right place to propose, in a weird way: in the city I have lived in and loved all my life. Next to the loudly humming air conditioner of the Pizza Paradiso restaurant, next door.

Setting down my wineglass I go over to Claire and we kiss a little. We kiss some more. It's a good stalling tactic. I can keep this up for a while, as I work up the courage to DO IT. But then Claire starts gasping for air and so I have to let her go.

But the urge is still with me; the blind, groping instinct to ask the fateful question. This urge feels a little weird. It's a bit like knowing you're going to throw up when you are a kid. You want it to happen--and yet you don't. Anyway, here it comes. Stepping back, I open my mouth and . . .

And I close my mouth again. Because Claire is squinting at me oddly. And this has got me thinking that maybe she's a bit tipsy, after three or four glasses of champagne. That's a concern. Should I propose to her when she's had a fair number of drinks? Won't that nullify anything she says? Will her answer be legally binding?

Worse still, will she even remember my question tomorrow?

What, you proposed?! When was that?

The problems in my head are multiplying, I should have come straight out with it a few seconds ago, when I had the queasy urge, the nauseous feeling. Now it comes to it I can see a host of other complexities. Like: just how should I phrase this telling question?

On reflection, "Will you marry me?" seems kind of forceful, rather aggressive, and blunt. Slightly too close to "You will marry me!" But maybe that's a good thing? How about honesty? Maybe candor and frankness are called for here, not cold calculation? On that basis, perhaps I should run across the roof terrace and fling my arms open and just say, "Oh marry me!" in a kind of passionate and impetuous outburst.

What am I saying? We're on top of the roof. It's five stories down to the busy London street, where I can hear the pizza waiters chucking out the prosecco bottles. If I start shouting impetuous stuff as I leap across the asphalt, Claire might topple over the edge in surprise and fall to her death. Which would be a pretty brief engagement.

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