A Man of My Own

For two years and almost two months, I've been stopping at the Akron-Medina Road Panera Bread almost every Friday morning for a pastry that involved chocolate. I just seem to need chocolate on Fridays. And each time I walked in, I would quickly scan the diners for handsome, age-appropriate men. If I saw one, and he was noticing me, I'd maneuver myself past his table to check for the presence or absence of a wedding band.

This weekly activity led to nothing, obviously. But it was something I felt, in my loneliness, the need to do. It's like the lottery—if you don't play, you can't win. If I wasn't constantly on the lookout for a man, I'd never find one.

This morning I went into Panera again, maybe for my final time. (Technically my last day of work is next Friday, but one never knows with this company ….) After getting my chocolate pastry and my napkin, I pushed open the exit door and realized I hadn't looked around once. The restaurant could have been completely filled with women—or men—and I wouldn't even have noticed.

I have my own man now. And he's a Really Good Man. He makes me feel loved and cherished and secure.

My days of relentlessly looking are over. Yippee!