This is my second Charlene, but the first one had an S instead of a C. It was important to remember these distinctions; God forbid me from having referred to Susy as Sue.
Charlene lived in West Norriton, a small town that adjoined King of Prussia in the western suburbs. Her Match picture reminded me of Anne with an e, and that was enough for me to sign up.
She suggested the Rib House in Bridgeport, which I love. Yes, it’s a dive bar, but great ribs. Some sacrifices needed to be made.
I know enough not to show up in a business suit, but I’d fit right in with an Eagles tee shirt and jeans. I walk in right on time, and it must be Charlene waving at me from the bar, calling me over. Either that or this woman asks every guy who walks in to join her.
She meets me halfway and throws her arms around me. “Great to meet you, Frank. C’mon over and meet some friends.”
Charlene did not get very dressed for our first date. She’s wearing a tank top and short, short, cut-off jeans. It would take me as long to read the tats on her body as it did to read War and Peace.
I followed her to the bar and met Tina, Dave, Spike, and Sally.
“What are you drinking, Frank?” she asks.
“Draft beer will be fine; thanks, Charlene.” I’m not asking for vodka or Michelob Light here.
My beer came, and I thanked someone and toasted Charlene. I have no idea if or how to start a conversation, nor with whom. Someone else will need to carry the ball here. Fortunately, Tina asks, “Where do you live, Frank?”
“Conshohocken.” This is safe. Conshy used to be a blue-collar town until gentrification started about fifteen years ago, and many new luxury condos and apartments were built. Let them figure out which I was.
This was a group conversation, and I was not going to learn much about Charlene except for how she dressed for first dates, who her friends were, and that she drank Rolling Rock from the bottle.
Twenty minutes into this, I formulated a plan. I whispered to Charlene, “Got a minute?” and I grabbed her elbow and led her to a quiet alcove.
“I just remembered that I forgot my Asr this afternoon. I’ll do it outside, but I’ll be back in a half hour. Perhaps I can pray quickly and do it in twenty minutes. I think East is that way, isn’t it?” looking over her left shoulder.
“Your what?”
“My Asr, my afternoon prayer. I told you I was a Muslim, didn’t I?”
“I thought you said you were Jewish?”
“Jewish? Not me; you must have me confused with someone else. I’ll be back soon. Allahu Akbar.” (God is great)
Whew! That was close! Who said I was not a risk-taker?