100 Blind Dates To Meet Prince Right

"Hey, what a great way to meet my soul mate!" This was my first thought when opening the newspaper to the voice introduction personal ads. But soon I discovered it to be as easy as choosing a jury for the O.J. Simpson trial – a verdict reached after nearly one hundred uncomfortable, yet interesting, blind dates.

I have a friend who feels this type of searched out discovery of the opposite sex is an unnatural way to meet, but placing a personal ad really does beat the alternatives – singles' bars, uncomfortable fix-ups by friends whose feelings you don’t want to hurt, or evenings with the novel, a great talker of passion but disabled in delivery. I’d much rather chat on the phone with prospective mates while sprawled out on the couch, than perch myself on a bar stool stewing the unlikely entrance of Prince Right.

After a while, I found continual blind dating to be like standing in front of the mirror throwing makeup brushes and curling iron into an aerobics routine and wondering if the energy was all to impress an Ichabod Crane look-a-like. Despite the dates that shocked me with appearances quite opposite to their phone descriptions, I remained optimistic and continued to meet the faces of the voices who call my voice box in response to my ad: DWF, 35, 5’4", physically fit, administrative assistant, caring, giving, confident, creative. Seeking sensitive, intelligent, down-to-earth man with depth, to share life and love.

My first situation in blind dating began with a spotlight on my less than perfect legs. We take a seat in the restaurant as he tells me he finds me attractive. But next, the toad in him rose. "I was wondering," he croaked. "Are you naturally bowlegged?" Flaming over this ridiculous attention to the slight arching of my shins, I strike back. "No, I’m not. I had surgery to form them this way!" Embarrassment suffocates us both as we eat and depart quickly.

For weeks I spoke on the phone to many prospective mates, including two who send gorgeous bouquets of flowers to my work. I enjoyed the conversations and went out to meet many of these men, but I eventually reached a point where I needed to feel sparked before exerting my time and energy. How agonizing it is to feel trapped in uncomfortable silence and clumsy words of small talk when there is no connection.

During the next month I spend a lot of time on the phone with a variety of men ranging from an exotic dancer to an attorney, to the young and childless never-married to the older, wiser, divorced-twice with five children. Until finally, at last, a spark ignited and a date was planned.

Over a glass of wine in a smoky pub, this prospective mate shifts our getting to know you discussion to his aversion to cigarette smoke. "The reason I hate smoke so much," he says, "Is because it gets into your clothes. I mean, it even makes its way to your underclothes." I take a drink of wine but gag when he finishes with, "Oh! But don’t get me wrong -- I don’t sniff my underwear!" The remark did little to charm me as well as the arrogant demeanor he displayed during the rest of our visit. I returned to filtering through the many callers who wanted me to try them on for lunch or a cup of coffee and found the latest messages unique.

"Marcia, this is Rick. I’m a 44 year old educated professional who would like to meet you. Give me a call -- you never know -- maybe I’ll be your 44 magnum!" . . . "Hello Marcia, this is Dave. I’m 38 and a widower. I would love to find the right person. The problem is, I already found her but the Lord called her home. Since I can’t be with my true love until I get to heaven, I’m looking for a woman to fill that void in the meantime". . . "Hi Marcia, this is Tom. I’m 34, tall, and good-looking. I’m also a wonderful person. In fact, if you were to talk with my mother, she’d tell you I’m the finest man you could ever meet."

It took me a few months, but I eventually there I was -- rummaging through the voice mail messages. This time, though, was different. Swirling through a dance, I believe I had at long last found Prince Right and we have a fun two months. However, true colors soon reveal a prince masquerading as a toad. I feel eaten alive like a fly as he yearns for complete control of my life. Back to the pond with him!

Months later, I dance again. Well, at least until I find myself confronted by another toad in disguise. He swayed smoothly as if he was ready to tango, but when lies were revealed and his baggage became heavy, he tripped over his feet. I take a break from dating and reflect on my search by composing a poem.

Date after date, I meet the frogs and the toads
Their rough warts revealed as true colors unfold
Heart of warmth is sought to cover cold shivers
Yet all seem like snakes that slip, slide, and slither
Lips press to theirs wishing an end to loud croaks
And the mud they slop with their arrogant boasts
But green still I see, it just doesn’t make sense
Tell me! When do I get to kiss the prince!


Frustrated, I grumble to a friend. "It’s going to happen for you," she consoles me. "But first you need to stop wanting it and seeking it." Oh, what a lot of sense that makes! How does one control their desires in life? We’re supposed to force ourselves to stop wanting something in order for it to happen! This brings to mind that popular line I despise. "When you’re not looking for it, you’ll find it." For some, this may be true – others, such as myself, are unable to sit patiently and wait, hoping for it to happen as we force ourselves not to think about it so it will happen.

Determined to not allow the masked toads to drown me, I listen to more voice messages with an energetic, positive outlook. Soon I am enjoying lunch with a new soul mate hopeful. His intelligence, fun sense of humor, and physical appearance charge me. But that was all before he discussed his ideal woman. "She will be wild and crazy in some ways and in others she will resemble June Cleaver," he tells me.

The wild and crazy comment doesn’t phase me. What jolts me is the June Cleaver remark. My mind drifts. Strands of pearls swing above fresh rolled out apple pie dough I awoke early to make. Smoothing my dress, scrunched from squatting to scrub the floor, my high heels hurry me to the front door where my husband awaits his good-by kiss. But he only gets a quick peck, as I need to find where I put that vacuum and get busy before he gets home! I dash back to the closet of callers and hastily search for an updated outfit.

Weeks later I enjoy lunch with a large bearded man. He seems to have a great personality and takes me to a basketball game for our second get-together. As we enjoy the game he pulls photos from his wallet. "This is me doing volunteer work as a professional Santa Claus," he says. I stare at the photos in amazement. The man really does look like a Santa, -- like the storybook Santa Claus. As the evening advanced, I began to see more of Santa in his face – the sort of squinty, sparkling eyes, the round nose, that jolly, friendly, warm look. Yes, Marcia, there is a Santa Claus and you’re on a date with him!

Any hints of romantic feelings began to crumble as I envision myself in an intimate relationship with Santa Claus. However, they were completely crushed when Santa, handing me his binoculars, points out a woman in the crowd and croaks -- "You’ve got to see this woman in the front row dressed in black. She has enormous hooters! Check it out!" My thoughts scream. You are quite the gentleman Santa! Must you try so hard to dazzle me!

The lack of "gentleman" in the croaking Santa perplexes me. In my dating and relationship experiences I’ve encountered very few men who are "gentle," much less gentleman-like in behavior. If it hasn’t been the rough thrust of an arm, it’s been the hard hit of a door they could care less about opening while thoughtlessly walking ahead.

However, I stay true to my optimistic roots and dream of cuddling on the porch swing forty years later with that undying light in knowing looks as Prince Right’s eyes meet mine. I soldier on for the devoted partner, the gentleman, and the sensitive, caring heart.

It amazes me that a friend stumbled on her soul mate with her first blind date while I felt burdened with every frog and toad in existence. Many people close to me felt it was time to let go of the dream and just let whatever happens take its course. But to me, that would be ceasing to live. You’ve got to get out there and make your life happen! I believed Prince Right was there, amidst those toads, and I was on a mission to find him.

With optimism and determination guiding me, I continued to search for the blind date to end all blind dates. And there it finally came – a year later, while lunching with a businessman on a chilly Friday in February. It was just a simple sort of thing. Just an ordinary date in a casual place, yet it flowed with this comfortable, easy feeling underlined with attraction that some people describe as magic. I knew when we left the restaurant we would be seeing each other again.

I have loved and adored my Prince Right for seven amazing years now. Yes, we have had some harried times and stresses that have toppled and twisted us as most married couples do. But depth of love, endurance of love, and a determined love have always prevailed as when you tread the pond with a hundred frogs you get what you deserve – Prince Right on bended knee, bearing the "it was all worth it" glass slipper.