The Sex Issue

Christina introduces me, responding to the raised eyebrows by saying outright, "Yes, it's a real date." One of her male co-workers gets a little jealous. He repeatedly calls Christina away from our conversation and insists upon holding her hand under the table. When he gets pouty, she tries to console him. Then I get jealous. She holds his hand, then holds mine, and I get snippy and wriggle away. Around last call, I'm tired and cranky. A friend of the jealous dude informs me that I'm a "cold, forked-tongued bitch."

"Little man, you're about to learn what fork-tongued means," I growl.

Suddenly, it's time for us to go.

 

Clothes on, Hands off, Don't Go Horizontal:
Singles Group, Woodbury Church of Christ, early afternoon Sunday, February 2

I'm starting to realize that I just can't meet a decent, God-fearing family man in a nightclub. So I decide to attend a church singles group to see if any good Christian men are willing to knock me up.

The Woodbury Church of Christ looks a little like the religious version of Disneyland. I fully expect Tinker Bell to descend from the steeple on a fly-wire, wave a magic wand, and turn a couple of pumpkins into husbands for me. Instead, I find a maze of youth groups. After locating a roomful of people a little closer to my own age, I walk inside: There are many women in sweaters from 1989, and a lot of men who look just a little off. Chad, a young pastor with chestnut hair and a shiny wedding band on his left hand, speaks to us about the rules of attraction. He starts to advise, "Clothes on, hands off, don't go horizontal," but ends up making a cute Freudian slip. "Clothes off, hands on," he says, and he's immediately interrupted by tittering 30-year-olds.

Undaunted, he goes on to remind us that God is the ultimate relationship counselor. "A wise person remembers the John Cougar Mellencamp song, 'I fight authority, authority always wins,'" he insists.

The future Mr. Sarah K. Sawyer is probably not sitting at this table.

 

Love and Human Remains:
The Aftermath, Monday, February 3

Right, so now what? I've been on 10 different dates in 11 days, and there's still no ring around my finger. This is what it's like to be single and searching in the city. I have my eyes open. I'll work with what I've got.

I imagine I'll be seeing Christina the Carpenter again, although I fear it might end weirdly. I'd like to go out for another date with Scott the Personal Ad Guy--unless he never speaks to me again for writing this article. I'm going to call Martin the Therapist and invite him to a concert, just to see what happens. And Pablo? I'd marry Pablo tomorrow, if he asked me.

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