My fantasy dinner

This past few weeks I have been up to something that is becoming depressingly normal -- telling otherwise eligible men that I can't possibly date them. I'm fairly sure that one otherwise cool guy has thrown in the towel after the aforementioned child hives incident.

Travel on vacations -- impossible.

Long-distance relationships -- New Jersey might as well be Canada.

Guys without kids -- enjoy the life of the bon vivant! Write and tell me how it goes.

You'd think that this would be good for my ego. I'm totally sick of it. I guess it would be worse if I attracted no attention, so I'm not complaining about that.

I'd love to go out to dinner with a hot guy -- if I could somehow get past the preliminaries.

I was very aware, at a lunch last week (which seems like a century ago) that I was being sized up, evaluated, even perhaps undressed (which really isn't something I even consider on a first date, but I'm not a man).

I'm totally starved for frivolity and relaxation, not to mention flirtation.

It doesn't matter where my fantasy dinner takes place -- a diner or a classy Main Line restaurant would be equally fine.

We'd already be comfortable enough with each other that everything and anything would be on the table, as it were.

Gentle joking would be par for each course, and occasional blushes would cleanse the palate for the next rejoinder.

Silliness, even giddiness would be accepted in the spirit of friendship -- and now and then, something a bit deeper.

We'd know one another's weaknesses -- and it would still be O.K.

Maybe now and then we'd hold hands, or exchange a kiss -- no pressure, no calculation.

I feel my lip beginning to curl -- which tells me that right now I'm not even in the ballpark, let alone on the field.

First I have to start saying "no thanks" -- and it's going to be a while before I can.

But boy oh boy, I am ready.