Single mothers in search of a mate need only visit McDonalds on a Sunday afternoon. There, in an effort to both feed and entertain their children, divorced dads congregate, some typing away on their laptops, and others attempting to corral their children within the confines of the indoor play gym.
It was in front of one such play gym where I sat drinking a smoothie, using my eyes to watch my eight-year-old and my ears to listen to conversations around me. Let’s face it. People watching is my favorite pastime.
“Yeah…I don’t know if he liked me too much,” I heard one voice say.
Immediately, my attention was drawn to my left where two ladies sat, both of whom were in their late twenties. While the stouter of the two slurped her Coke, her friend sat nodding in agreement.
“I can’t even remember his name,” the stout girl continued.
My attention was drawn to her snake tattoo which meandered around one arm and across her back. It briefly disappeared behind the strap of her tank top and peered out reluctantly from the other side.
“You can’t even remember his name?” her friend responded.
Her friend was a slender woman, with blue eyes and long dark hair. In bars, she would be “the pretty one.” Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and, like her friend, a plethora of ink peeked prominently out from the sleeves of her tight tee-shirt.
“It’s not important what his name was. He didn’t like me anyway,” the stout girl answered.
To their left sat a young father who wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. He was well dressed, athletic and, based upon his preoccupation with his laptop, employed. I couldn’t help but notice him casting his eyes in the direction of “the pretty girl,” also listening to the conversation.
“I can’t believe he didn’t go for you. Anyways, it’s hard to find someone with a job, let alone someone that will call you,” the pretty girl said. “All I get are bums.”
I waited for the divorced dad to fall out of his chair. Instead, he remained seated and appeared to be searching for a way to introduce himself. Before long, opportunity knocked.
“Mommy! I’m stuck” a little voice shouted from the slide. It came from the pretty girls’s daughter, a child of about two.
“What’s the matter?”
“Uhhh…she can’t climb down from the platform,” the divorced Dad explained, “I’ll go help!”
He rushed off, ran to the top of the slide and lifted the child to the platform below. He then held her hand at each step until she hopped safely onto the ground. His own son ran past at lightening speed and almost barreled into him.
“Dad…what are you doing? You can’t wear your shoes in here!”
“Oh…sorry. I’ll wait for you over there.”
He lingered for a moment to see if the pretty girl noticed his super-heroics (she had not), glared at me for failing to hide my smirk, and returned to his seat. There, he refocused his attention on his laptop, casting me angry looks.
What did I do?
The pretty girl reached for her child’s hand and moved to leave. Then, without so much as an appreciative glance in the divorced dad’s direction, she said to her friend, “I’m bored. Do you want to do something later?”
“Well, if you have a sitter tonite, we can go out,” the stout girl answered.
“That sounds great. Who knows? Maybe I’ll meet someone.”
