Although my past experience has proved otherwise, I still have faith that church is a great place to meet nice guys.
I started going to mass at the Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception in Denver. It is absolutely beautiful, not to mention the first place I’ve seen possibly eligible bachelors in my age bracket. In most other churches I’ve attended, they’ve either all been too old or too married with kids.
There is one guy in particular I keep seeking in church. We’ll just call him Le Gourmet because he either is a chef, or he dresses like one to seduce women. I saw him the first time I went to mass at the Basilica. We made eye contact five times, I always broke first, looked down, and demurely smiled. I felt like a Puritan sex goddess of sorts.
He was sitting next to a girl who was everything opposite of me: short, dark and delicate. She also seemed poised and graceful. Ugh – she had to be graceful! I spent the better part of the service trying to decide if they were together or if they just happened to be sitting in the same pew.
It was agonizing. I knew I wouldn’t even look at him again if he was with his girlfriend. I have a strict “no poaching” policy in my love life. Non-single guys are a special kind of dead to me and necrophilia is just gross.
In the end, I happily decided they were not together. There was no hand-holding during the Our Father, hug during the Sign of Peace or sharing a kneeler before communion. So.not.together. I was hopeful.
My roomie agreed with me. She’d seen him a few times before and never with that girl. We walked home talking about how great it would be to marry a chef and give up on the pursuit of learning how to grill a steak for good.
The next Sunday, I picked out a special dress, applied make-up and sat in the same section of the church. No Gourmet.
I didn’t see him the Sunday after or the Sunday after that.
Thinking maybe I had seen him on a fluke, I decided I should do one of two things:
1. Go to all 5 services every Sunday until I see him again or
2. Look around for a new Holy Crush
Since the thought of waking up in time to be at church at 6:30 in the morning is a little too much for me to bear, I decided to keep my eyes open in case Le Gourmet wasn’t the only eligible Catholic bachelor on the block.
That’s when I saw Choir Boy; a Johnny Depp look alike with a full beard. I’ve sworn off guitar players about 1,000 times and I normally don’t go for pale, slender guys, but I have been watching so many Vampire shows lately, that pale doesn’t bother me the way it used to, and I swear this guy looked like a non-eyeliner wearing Johnny Depp.
I returned the next week in my cute “I just spent the whole day at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science” outfit. Since my dark-framed glasses complimented the look, I was wearing them.
I have prescription eyeglasses, but I usually only wear them if they look good with my outfit, or if I am driving.
After mass last Sunday, I decided to always wear my glasses….always.
I sat up front, just a few rows back from the choir. Choir Boy was there tuning his acoustic-electric and warming up.
I noticed he’d shaved his beard.
I also noticed he looked a lot younger than he had the week before. A-LOT-FREAKING-YOUNGER.
I stared incredulously through the curved lenses. At 20/40, my vision isn’t bad, but those 20 feet of correction make a huge difference when sizing up a member of the opposite sex.
That’s when I realized Choir Boy was most probably in high school
I shuddered. I felt like a dirty old lady.
I asked myself if checking out Choir Boy last week classified me as an accidental pedophile…
I shuddered again.
No, I told myself, I am not Mrs. Robinson, it wasn’t my fault, I wasn’t wearing my glasses.
I vowed, with God as my witness, I’d never go to church without my glasses again….or my lipstick.