In and out of love in forty-five minutes flat

(or: "Making Shallow Dating Stories Sound Deep in Comparison")

He was at my son’s choir practice last Wednesday, reclining on the gymnasium floor, propped up on his elbows so he could watch the kids sing. He was wearing a baggy shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans, and his unkempt blond hair curled over his ears and down the nape of his neck. And he had a guitar. Oh God, a guitar.

When I sneaked out to take my younger son to the restroom, he jumped up and followed us, his guitar slung across his back. Then he stood at the end of the hallway, looking out a window and strumming a few notes now and then while I stood a few feet from him and waited for my son. I thought he was waiting his turn for the restroom, but then he followed us right back into the gymnasium and, with a sexy little shake of his tousled mop, flopped down in his spot on the floor. How odd, I thought, I wonder if he's single.

I spent the rest of the choir session trying unsuccessfully to catch a glimpse of his left hand.

Tonight he was in the front row of folding chairs, near the door, and our eyes met the moment I walked in. Was it my imagination, or did a tiny smile play at the corners of his lips before his eyes turned back to his book? Ooh, a book, how promising! I sat in the second row, several seats to the left of Guitar Man, determined to get a left-hand sighting sometime within the next forty-five minutes.

And suddenly there it was before me: a beautifully bare ring-finger, sleek and nude, like the finger of a newborn babe or of a widower bravely struggling to raise a child on his own. Ah, the poor man was probably a widower! I'm sure he would remember his dead wife fondly – that would only be natural – and I would encourage him to keep a picture of her in his child’s room. Surely by now all the steps of the grieving process had been given their due time, and he would be ready to share his life with another partner. After all, it had probably been about three years since Guitar Man’s wife had passed a–

Wait! It had been three years since Guitar Man’s wife had left him … yes, his evil bitch-wife had cheated on him and then dumped him for another man. Or another woman! Yeah, his wife had come out of the closet and left him for another woman. Which would explain why their sex-life had been so disappointing for all those years. I’m sure she had cared deeply for him – whose heart wouldn't melt in the gaze of those gentle blue eyes?– but their relationship had always been more of a comfortable friendship than a passionate romance.

His confidence had certainly been shaken when she left him, and he probably doesn’t date much. He hasn’t had anybody to rub those broad shoulders or kiss those sexy little sideburns or lightly lick that spot right there behind his earlobe. He probably spends most of his evenings alone (because of a custody arrangement in which his child only stays with him on Wednesdays and every other weekend, which is sad and all, but will clearly work out better for us because I have my full custody of my boys), reading books of poetry and picking out love songs on his guitar.

Then choir practice ended, and he was so absorbed in his book that he barely took notice of his daughter as she tried to get his attention. Then he stood up and left without putting away his folding chair. Selfish bastard!

Oh well. His kid is probably a brat anyway. His wife no doubt left him because he’s a total loser – just look at those ratty clothes and that nasty uncombed hair! The dude totally stalked us to the restrooms last week. And that book he was reading? It had a lot of pictures in it. Practically every other page was a black-and-white illustration. Can’t he even fucking read?

Dumb-ass thinks he’s a rock star. Ptooey!