There are two lessons in this episode: First, Sergeant Joe Friday always gets his man. Second, don’t mess with a determined woman.
Dear Father,
I had a memory today that made me both happy and sad. Do you remember our trip to Midland, Texas, in the new International Paystar 5000? Even though I now know that you were enduring a difficult time, I remember how happy you seemed to be, traveling with me and spending Thanksgiving with Grandpa Sid and Grandma Mabel and watching the Dallas Cowboys. Thinking of that made me happy.
We never have that kind of fun now. Thinking of that made me sad.
I hope we can have fun again sometime. I found out today that I still know how. Maybe you still know how, too.
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 24
It’s an odd and embarrassing thought that stirs me from sleep:
What if Joy wants to have sex with me tonight? This is not an eventuality I have planned for, and it seems so preposterous (I love the word “preposterous”) that I am inclined to just lie back down and return to sleep.
And yet, I cannot. So I watch time peel off my digital clock in the darkness as I ponder this.
5:57… 5:58… 5:59…
I keep coming back to what Dr. Buckley said: “I hope that’s not on the agenda for your first date.” No, it’s not. We don’t have an agenda. We are meeting at the new wine bar downtown, the one on Broadway. Everything after that is uncertain—including, and especially, the question of whether we are having sex.
6:00… 6:01… 6:02…
I must make a confession: I have never had sex, at least not with another human being. I am thirty-nine years old, and so, yes, I have discovered self-satisfaction. There’s no need to be excessively descriptive or gross about it. I read Dear Abby every morning in the Billings Herald-Gleaner, and I remember her saying something years ago about self-satisfaction: Half of men do it, and the other half lie when they say they don’t do it. That’s what Dear Abby said, and that’s good enough for me. Dear Abby is a very logical woman.
6:03… 6:04… 6:05…
Since I’ve never had sex, you can probably understand why I am wigging out about it. (I love the slang phrase “wigging out.”) Setting aside the obvious questions—How does one arrive at the decision to have sex on a first date? Does one just say, “This is a delicious salad. I look forward to telling you more about it later, when we’re having sex”?—I am uncomfortable with the idea. It seems like an irresponsible thing to do.
6:06… 6:07… 6:08…
Let’s say for argument’s sake that we were to have sex. This is a hypothetical situation. Where does it happen? Do we drive all the way back to Broadview and have sex at her house? We cannot have sex at this house; that simply is not a possibility. Among other potential problems, my father would be apoplectic if he found out. If Joy and I drive all the way back to Broadview, how do we have sex and leave enough time for me to get back to Billings to see tonight’s episode of Dragnet? I don’t see how it would be possible. I couldn’t have sex with that kind of time pressure. I’m not sure I can have sex at all, seeing as how I never have had it. I’m simply saying that, even if the physical act of love were possible, I would not be able to concentrate on it knowing that I might miss Dragnet.
6:09… 6:10… 6:11…
So what? A hotel room? That still brings up the Dragnet problem. A nice hotel, like the Crowne Plaza, might be willing to put a videocassette player in the room, but then I would have to make sure to bring my Dragnet tape along, not knowing whether I would actually need it.
I think that would be awkward.
Joy: “Hi, Edward. Why do you have your Dragnet tape?”
Me: “Hi, Joy. I thought we might have sex, so I wanted to be ready. I can’t miss Dragnet.”
Also, the Crowne Plaza is not the sort of place that would rent us a room for the sole purpose of having sex. The sort of place that would rent us a room for sex—and I don’t know how to find such a place—might not have a videocassette player to lend me. It would probably just want us to have sex and leave.
6:12… 6:13… 6:14…
It’s settled. We’re not having sex, even if Joy wants to. Even if I want to. There is just no way it can happen. I will have to apply the lessons I’ve learned from Dr. Buckley about saying no to this situation. I can say no to sex with Joy while still treating her with dignity and grace.
I should practice this.
“Sex? I’m ever so sorry, Joy, but it’s just not possible tonight. I do hope you understand.”
“Under normal circumstances, Joy, I would love to have sex with you, but it’s simply not a good night tonight.”
“I am appreciative of the offer, but I cannot. Perhaps I could take a rain check.”
Yes, any of those will work.
If she’s aggressive and grabs my wiener, though, I may have to come up with another plan. I have seen that sort of thing happen on late-night cable television, and I think it’s prudent that I be ready for it.
Here is something I did not know until today: Almost twenty minutes of thinking about nothing other than sex ruins you for sleep. I grab my pen and notebook and groggily record 5:57 a.m. in the space I have made for today, and my data is complete.
While I am eating corn flakes and waiting to hear the thump of the Billings Herald-Gleaner on the doorstep, I plot a plan for tonight—one that, as I have decided, does not include sex.
I want to try to be romantic, but I have been reading some online-dating advice columns, and if there is a single piece of counsel that comes through consistently about first dates, it is this: Do not make grand gestures. A first date is about building a little bit of trust and rapport and walking away from it wanting to have a second date. Some of the columns I have read say no flowers on a first date. Others say that a single red rose is a nice touch. I would like to give Joy a single red rose.
I have also decided, on my own, to burn a CD for Joy of some of my favorite songs, especially by R.E.M. and Matthew Sweet. I am not putting overt (I love the word “overt”) love songs on the CD. I do not want to come on too strong with Joy. I will tell her that the CD is just some of the music I like and that I hope she likes it, too. I will not be trying to send any kind of message with the CD.
Finally, I will go to get my hair cut today. I have new clothes for my online date. A fresh haircut will complete the look.
It’s a good plan, I think.
At 6:33, the newspaper lands on the doorstep. I rinse out my bowl in the sink, cross the living room, open the door, and pick up the paper. The forecast is calling for a high of forty-seven, which should be enough to melt away this snow if it comes true—but I won’t know until tomorrow, as forecasts are notoriously off base.
Inside, I write down the figures from yesterday, and my data is complete.