How a Determined Woman got Her Man

by Justine Ehlers
(Subtitles by the newspaper staff.)

Meeting people in Silicon Valley was never easy for me when I was dating or, rather, attempting to date.

My immediate family, extended family, and most of my girlfriends were out of town. No free dates or free men screenings.

Not a member of any organization, I didn't want to date anyone at work. To make matters worse, what did I do? I went to work. I went home. I went to work. I went home. My odds of meeting Prince Charming were terrible.

Being by nature pro-active, I decided to make life-style changes. I joined a health club. Working out always makes me feel so much better plus the view in the weight room could be especially good. Day in and day out guys would check me out but would never say anything.

The woman speaks first

Enough of this, I thought. If you can't talk to me, I'll talk to you. Random samplings of me, the woman, actually asking open ended questions achieved one of the following guy reactions:

• Denial. No, this woman can't possibly be talking to me. Pretend not to hear. Ignore her getting somewhat closer and repeating the question again.
• Fright. Oh my gosh! A woman is talking to me! Try to say something.
• As expected: Oh, a woman is talking to me. I can answer back. Responses ranged from a laconic one line sentence to a life story.

Six months later, I still had not one single date from that lousy health club.

O.K. Forget that scene. One fortuitous day, I accidentally found out about a place for ballroom dancing from a guy at work. Hmm, this may work. In college, my girlfriend and I took a ballroom dancing class. Somehow we didn't realize when enrolling that this activity actually involved holding hands with a male. After the initial shock, we got over that and enjoyed the class.

I showed up dateless (naturally) to the ballroom dancing place, a community college gym. To my satisfaction, over one hundred people came to dance, all ages, all races.

Bachelor pool full

The bachelor pool was non-negligible. After my first night dancing in the beginner circle, I left with high hopes:

1. The guy stood physically in front of me. He couldn't possibly ignore me -- he was forced to at least say something. I could get the guy to talk some.
2. I had a good selection, some of the Stanford students.
3. The class rotated the circle frequently. You got to dance with everyone.
4. I could see how a guy interacted in a group setting or with his friends. That told me something about his character.
5. I really liked to dance.

I continued to go every Saturday. I asked pretty much anyone to dance if I didn't get asked first. Later on, I became more fussy.

One guy made off-color jokes. You'd think a Stanford student would know better. A few either had no rhythm or danced like a robot.

Just because a guy thought he was gracing me with his presence didn't mean that I felt honored. By and large, most guys were O.K. to good dancers. I made a point to remember the names of guys who seemed interesting.

The pool of eligible men narrowed and expanded, narrowed and expanded. That orange-haired guy I wouldn't mind seeing again or that tall guy with the curly hair...

As the beginner circle rotated, I silently observed my prospects. No orange-haired guy. That tall guy rotated to me.

"Hi Bob," I greeted him as I noticed his grey eyes and freckles.

Greeting Bob

"Hello."

"What did you do this weekend?" I asked.

"I went to the beach and flew a kite. Then I made a sand castle. I made a Mayan pyramid. I thought that was very appropriate and California-like. Mexican. West Coast at least. What did you do?"

"I didn't have a very fun weekend. I was working on this project."

"If I work all weekend, then I can't do anything during the week. I'm just not motivated. I can't get myself to concentrate. I have to take weekends off."

"Men rotate!" the instructor called out.

I looked for the orange-haired guy in the intermediate circle but he wasn't there.

I'll have to at least dance once with Bob, I thought.

"Do you want to dance?" someone asked. I turned around to see that Bob had found me first.

"Sure." What a question! Unlike most guys who asked me to dance, he presented his hand to lead me to the dance floor.

The next Saturday night dances came and went with Bob and I dancing more together. I made another life-style change; no more working weekends.

Looking past him one night as the beginning circle rotated, I remarked, "You don't have to rotate if you don't want to." I could feel him looking down at me. I waited, staring straight ahead past him. He didn't rotate.

I didn't know it that night, but the man hunt had ended. My Prince Charming didn't come suddenly into my life but earned his way into my heart and I into his in the months of dating that followed.

Almost two years after I got married, Teresa at work asked me, "So, how's married life?"

"I have only one regret," I said in between breaths on the stair master machine. "That I didn't meet him sooner."

We still ballroom dance; I don't have to rotate anymore.

(A year 2000 footnote: Since the first baby, we don't get to ballroom dance much anymore. We'll do it again eventually; some things are more important right now.)