Romance shorts

Romance Blues

            I joined Community Boating on Boston’s Charles River for two reasons:   to hone my sailing skills and to meet some men.  I was advised on the technique of landing a guy:  As a woman you are the lure. You have to think about what you want–so you recognize him when he comes along to catch you. 

            I first thought in broad categories:  intelligent, sensitive, funny, attractive, free- spirited, evolved.  The only particular I wanted was a sailor to share my passion.  I found, though, I could be very particular about what I didn’t want.  No boozers, no smokers and no one who owned cats since, because of my allergies, we’d never be able to get close without my sneezing and wheezing all night.

            By the end of that summer I hadn’t found anyone who seemed available, so I took a look over some of the guys I’d overlooked. 

            It was fall; we were in the Barnegut at sunset, about four of us, one of whom I’d seen often at the club.  He was short and balding, but up close I could see how attractive he really was–blue eyes, nice smile.  When I learned he was a researcher at Mass General Hospital I knew he was intelligent.  Now, here’s a prospect, I observed.

            I was lost in this reverie watching him handle the jib, when as we reached to shore, he mused his own daydream and was hit with the need to express his thoughts. Pulling out a package of cigarettes, then lighting one, he inhaled and before exhaling he remarked to no one in particular, “God, my cats would love this.”

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