Still Hot, Why Not?
Lover: We Mop the Same Way!
I rent a furnished house in the country for the month of July. Little do I know that the owner, F, is an attractive middle-aged man. I soon figure this out. There are photos of F and his two grown kids all over the place. He has an open face and a nice compact body and some hair, and a very warm smile.
Hey, I’m already sleeping in his bed. I like the mattress. I like the wall color: apricot. I like the rug. The level of tidiness; on a scale of 1 to 10 (1=piggy/sloppy, 10=anal/clean) he is about an 8. Me too, F!
The food in the fridge is to my liking. It’s all Trader Joes. He doesn’t cook much. He’s got the spice rack directly above the stove. One greasy hand reaching for the paprika, and yeow! you’ve got spice jars in the frying pan. I do cook. See, we enrich each other’s lives, F! And, I like his books. I like the tomato plant. I like so much about F’s house, I decide F and I are meant for each other.
F asks me to have the place professionally cleaned when I leave. I consider saving the cost by cleaning it myself. (If you could see my apartment after my grandkids have been here, you’d know I’m no amateur at cleaning.) But, I decide I am too old. I call a cleaning service, and tell them they need to wash the floors. Is there a mop in the house? If not, they will buy one and I will have to pay for it. I search high and low for a mop. I write F and ask if he’s got a mop somewhere. His reply:
I don’t have a mop. I get down on my knees and wash the floors with a cloth and a basin of water.
Oh my God! F AND I MOP THE SAME WAY! Are we meant for each other (rhetorical question)? Because who does this? Isn’t this one of those details that tells everything? WE ARE COMPATIBLE. Both humble, hard-working, self-effacing, look-dirt-in-the-eye kind of people! Who don’t like to waste money on mops! This confirms beyond a shadow of a doubt that F AND I ARE MEANT FOR EACH OTHER.
I immediately email F, tell him the good news—that we mop the same way—and ask him out on a date. Here is F’s reply:
Well! There’s a question I didn’t expect. I’d like to meet you sometime when you’re up here, but I don’t think I want a “date.” I haven’t been very interested in dating lately.
But…but…I stare at the monitor. And take a deep breath. Okay! I’ll rent his house again next summer. Next time, I’ll bring a mop.
Diana Amsterdam is a published and produced playwright, screenwriter, scribe and branding guru; and former ghost writer for the Emily Post Institute. She is the mother of two brilliant sons and five exceptional grandchildren.Email this post