The Click

When I was in my twenties, dating was a fun, exciting, and my way to finding “Mr. Right”, who I was sure would arrive. Instead, Mr. Wrong showed up.

I was in search of that romantic love “click”. The kind you see in the movies. The “click” was key. A guy could be tall, dark, handsome and rich, but if there was no “click”... forget it buddy. He could take you on his yacht, to the theatre, to the best restaurants and clubs, but without the “click”… bye, bye Charlie. He could serenade you from your balcony, mail you love letters, send you flowers (yuk! I’m really not big on flowers), but without the “click”, hit the road, Jack. Don’t come back. Hasta la vista, baby. C’est la vie. It’s a wrap!

As a matter of fact the “click” is still key, but now they just call it something different; a ‘connection’ or a ‘spark’.

It happened the other night, on The Bachelor. Jake picked Vienna. He didn’t choose the Tenley because there was something missing, but he didn’t know what. He couldn’t articulate why. Why? Tenley was a better match for him. She was the better choice. But what was missing was the click. Chemistry. A spark. You can’t define it. You can’t explain it. It just be what it be.

Without it, you may as well be petting your cat. (Not that I have a cat! Well. Anymore.)

I come from the generation whose philosophy was; graduate high school, college, get my masters, have a successful career, make lots of money, live in a penthouse apartment in Manhattan, become a famous actress of stage and screen, oh, and get my doctorate. Along the way, of course I will meet a wonderful man who will love me despite all my flaws, because of my irresistible beauty. And because of that beauty, wit, charm and personality, will accept me for who I am. He would think my temper tantrums were cute. And no matter how many times or how hard I pushed him away, he’d return to love me and cherish me all the days of my life. For as long as we both shall live. He couldn’t live without me. Of course, due to my irreplaceable, unmistakable, undeniable beauty and charming personality.

Just like in the Frank Sinatra movies. He’d pursue me no matter how much I resisted and then ask me to marry him. I would have to think about it, but I would say “yes”. He would take me in his arms and tell me over and over again, how beautiful I was and how much he loved me.

Guess what?

That never happened.

BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT.

The point is, after all those years of going along, getting all my degrees and everything, thinking along the way this Frank Sinatra movie scenario would happen to me - it didn’t. It started to happen a couple of times, but guess what?? That pushing away thing they do in the movies doesn’t work in real life, girls! You know what it does? It pushes them away!

Crap!

Hmm, that is not how every Frank Sinatra movie ended.

I suppose you can assume how it all turns out, because I’m sitting here, writing this idiot blog about being single in New York City. The above strategy did not work. Myself and many other women like me found ourselves still single approaching 35 ... and beyond. Which was not such a horrible thing. But we were horrified and so were our mothers. I just assumed it would all fall into place, as planned. How could it not? After all, I was smart, beautiful, and glamorous with a charming personality and great sense of humor. Then, honey, why was it that all the ugly chicks were getting married?

If you think you’re going to find the answer to that one in this blog, don’t waste your time. We still don’t know for sure, but are getting closer and closer to a solution every day.

Or are we?