Yesterday, for the first time in eight years, I found myself single on Valentine’s Day.
Usually, I pretend to be the empowered single lady (aka Beyoncé pre-Jay-Z), recycling my “all the good ones are taken” line as I plow through men like a weed wacker.
But yesterday, I was mopey. I needed a diversion, after seeing umpteen Facebook posts from friends toasting their “LOMLs” (love of my life), with snapshots of heart-shaped French toast or videos of toddlers in darling t-shirts blabbing about “the best Mommy ever.”
Besides my parents, my only other Valentine was my hound dog, Ernie. And he doesn’t distinguish Valentine’s Day from any other day. He licks me no matter what.
So, I invited my friend, Sharon Beck, to the first-ever Sherm’s Singles Valentine’s Mixer, held at Christiana Fire Company Memorial Hall. The organizers promised a bitter but mostly sweet evening, complete with cupcake-decorating, dancing, sexy photos and a “dodged a bullet” wall where you could post tattered pics of your ex.
Oh, and a dating game with perpetual bachelor Dave Cruise, one of WDSD’s afternoon drive-time DJs. According to his Facebook page, he “studied being cool” at the University of Iowa before moving to Wilmington. After doing our due diligence via Google, Sharon and I agreed that he was worth the $21 admission.
As yesterday wore on, I started having second thoughts. First, Ernie refused to poop in the morning, causing me to be late for a News Journal training session.
Second, I didn’t receive a single red rose or a singing telegram from an anonymous admirer. What I did get were chocolate-covered pretzels and a bunch of shirts on clearance from my mom.
Feeling dejected with flat hair and a run in my stockings, I nearly canceled on Sharon. But Sharon is one of the sweetest people I know and she has gone through a lot this past year.
So, I curled my hair in the office restroom and off I went.
I knew something was wrong when Sharon began texting me photos of an empty dance floor accompanied by the desperate “Hurry!”
As I pulled into the parking lot, “singles mixer” taunted me in oversized type from the announcements board. The subtext being, “You’re lame.”
I tossed a halfhearted smile to a woman who seemed frozen in her truck and threw on my press badge. The good ol' “I’m with the media and not actually participating in this” excuse.
As I made the walk of shame to the door, I noticed two firemen on my left. Hmm...not so bad.
Upon entering, dread set in. The room was tastefully decorated with balloons, a swanky lounge area, a towering display of chicken skewers and chocolate-covered strawberries.
What was missing were the people.
More specifically, the men.
The ratio was about four to one, and there were only a dozen people milling about after 9 p.m. A couple stray guys who looked dweeby hung out awkwardly to the side. The women, some dressed in jeans, others flaunting more leg than Rihanna, were dancing with abandon or gesturing wildly at the sex toy booth.
Kat Cabrera, an esthetician in Elsmere, pretended to be a sharpshooter with vibrators and kicked balloons.
“I can make a fool of myself and nobody cares,” she said.
During one of many uncomfortable moments punctuating the evening, a life coach paced back and forth on stage, lecturing about meaningful relationships.
“He told us he was going to keep it light,” one of the organizers mumbled.
Meanwhile, a couple (what the hell were they doing here?) inspired hostility by regularly smooching and shoving their hands in each other’s pockets.
Finally, about 30 minutes in, an attractive man approached me and asked how I was doing.
Turns out it was Sherm, himself, also known as Mike Porter. Asked if he at least broke even money-wise on the night, he immediately redirected the conversation.
“There’s more than two people here,” he said. It’s good.”
Sherm admitted that the “singles” badge probably intimidated some would-be revelers. Next year, he said, they’ll call it a “Valentine’s Day Mixer” and incorporate an activity for the men other than choose-your-own cupcake icing.
But we were at a fireman’s hall. Why couldn’t they erect a pole of some sort and have them slide down it? Sharon asked the bartender. He just shrugged.
After the few wussy guys bowed out early, that left a couple hunky photographers (probably married), the bartender (definitely married) and the charming and dashing Cruise, who confessed to me that he has been “single forever,” probably because he is afraid of commitment even though he has a dog.
Cruise clearly dressed up for the occasion, sporting dark denim and an untucked shirt.
I asked him if his ego got wounded because of the poor showing.
“Not at all,” he replied. “I need one good one.”
Blindfolded, he ended up choosing bachelorette #2, a spritely hair stylist from Elsmere who when asked to name the animal she would most likely go to bed with, replied “doggy style.”
I’m just annoyed because Sharon was bachelorette #1. I marched right up to Cruise and told him that he missed out on a class act. Bachelorette #3 was never a realistic threat, because she kept straddling bachelorette #2.
Later, Sharon, in a burst of assertiveness, passed Cruise her number.
We high-fived. In fact, even though the final head count was under 30, Sherm’s mixer was a hoot. I sipped a pina colada on a “Love Sucks” napkin. Sharon and I posed "Charlie's Angel's"-style for the photographer. I met a stay-at-home mom in Christiana who is the adult novelty version of an Avon lady, setting up “slumber parties” in women’s homes.
I met another woman in her sixties who has been divorced three times — the last one was a raging alcoholic — who commiserated with me about finding the supposed love of your life only to find out he is unavailable. She ended up winning a $50 gift certificate to a restaurant, since she was the only one to bring a picture of her ex.
And I shaked it something fierce with Sharon on the dance floor. According to my horoscope on Wednesday, “Romantic love might be deep and intense, but other kinds of ties are just as important to you, if not more so.”
Sharon went home alone last night, greeted by her overweight cat, Miss Ellie. Cruise, who was a good sport and stayed until the end, left solo and probably returned home to his dog, his constant companion.
I went home to Ernie, who gave me a celebrity welcome.
Then he destroyed my sock.
Dance video