A Personal Ad
by Kelly F. Barr
My wife and a group of her friends went out for “ladies night” – dinner and a movie. I can’t remember the last time she and I had dinner and a movie together. The kids are grown and on their own. I’m forty-five years old, and my wife and I have slipped away from one another. She has her friends and activities, and I have … not much.
Reading the local paper, I notice a new section of ads – personal ads. Apparently, single, lonely people run ads looking for dates. I suppose I’m not—technically—single, but I am lonely. My wife goes out with her friends more than I do. She goes once a week; me … once a month.
I miss the companionship, the passion, the softness of her skin under my touch, and her sweet kisses. I miss walks, holding hands, and long talks.
A notepad and pen lie within reach. I grab them and write:
If you like holding hands, walks in the rain,
dinner and dancing, cuddling by a fire in a
secluded cabin in the woods, long talks,
and moonlit walks on the beach, you’re the
lady I’m looking for.
Write to me and take an adventure.
Reading over it, an old song came to mind – “The Piña Colada Song”. I chuckled. I tore the slip from the pad, folded it, and slipped it into my pocket.
In the morning, before leaving for work, I reached into my pocket, searching for my keys. I pulled out a folded up paper, realized what it was, and slipped it back into my pocket. I found my keys and headed out the door. On my way to work, I stopped by the local paper and took out a personal ad.
Three days later, I was reading the paper in bed. I saw this:
I like walks in the rain, swing dancing, and
Chinese food. Snuggling by a fire puts me
“in the mood”. Meet me tomorrow at noon
at Gilda’s Café and we’ll plan our adventure.
My stomach did a flip. Someone had answered my ad. Excitement at the possibility of an adventure with a beautiful young woman quickly waned when my wife rolled over and asked when I was going to turn off the light. Guilt washed over me as I folded the paper and turned off the lamp.
The next day I arrived at Gilda’s Café at 11:45 a.m. I took a seat at a table for two with a clear view of the door. My stomach was in knots as I waited. Then she walked in and I was again reminded of “The Piña Colada Song” – I was living it. I knew her smile in an instant and her confident gait. It was my own beautiful wife, and she said, Oh, it’s you.”
I said, “I never knew you like swing dancing and walks in the rain.”
She smiled and sat down. “I guess we’ve lost touch.”
I reached across the table and took her hand. I gazed into her eyes. “I’ve missed you.”
She leaned toward me. “Me too.”
I leaned in and kissed her sweet lips.
After lunch, we walked out of the café hand-in-hand.
At home she called to reserve a cabin and I began to pack. She came into the bedroom to pack her bags while I took mine to the car. A few minutes later, she locked the house and handed her bags to me. I put them in the car and turned to find her still standing beside me. She moved in front of me and slid her hands up my arms. “I think this is going to be good for us.”
I put my arms around her, pulled her close against me, and gave her a lingering kiss. Then I whispered in her ear, “It’s a new beginning … a fresh start, and it’s going to be a-ma-zing.” I nuzzled her neck, then led her to the passenger door, opened it, and she stepped in.
I ran around to my side of the car, feeling like I did when I took her on our first date twenty-four years ago.
Four hours later, when we reached the cabin, the first thing I did was start a fire in the fireplace.