Judy and I connected on J-Date. She had long blond hair and a pretty face; having a face is now a prerequisite. I refuse to date anyone without a face. That’s how discriminating I am.

She lived in Southampton, so Willow Grove and the Miller Ale House were fine for her. We agreed on a Thursday night at six o’clock.

I grabbed two seats at the bar where I could see the front door, perchance that I might recognize her from her picture. I texted her I was at the bar.

Five minutes later, I recognized her. It helped that she was coming towards the bar smiling at me. Judy had about ten extra pounds, well within the over/under margin, and they were all up top, which she proudly displayed in a low-cut, cleavage-revealing top. I stood to greet her.

Judy was attractive, well-dressed, and groomed. She had an air of sophistication but not pretentiousness. I liked what I saw.

But it did not take very long for me to realize a huge matzoh ball; Judy had a rather thick accent. I wasn’t good with identifying accents; I could pick up North Philadelphia, New York, Boston, and Southern accents, and perhaps Asia, Italian, and French, but once we got into Eastern Europe, they were all the same to me.

The combination of my own hearing impairment, a foreign accent, conversation, and music surrounding me, brought my hearing potential to about thirty percent. So, if she talked slowly, I might pick up every third word.

On the plus side, the bartender was able to understand her order of white wine.

Here is what I think I learned about Judy in the hour we spent with drinks and chicken wings: Judy’s family emigrated from Hungary when she was seventeen. They lived in New York for ten years and then moved to Philadelphia twenty years ago with her husband.

She became a widow five years ago when her husband had a brain aneurysm and died on the spot. She had dated very little until last year when she decided to get out a bit more.

She had two adult sons who were both married and remained in the Philadelphia area.

I do hope that Judy reads this account and corrects any of my misinterpretations.

It was clear to me that I would not enjoy being with this woman but having an accent sounds like a crappy excuse. What could I do that would make her not want to see me again? I’m sure the Muslim trick would work, but I hated doing repeats.

This would be perfect. Without asking her, I reached over and took her leftover chicken wing bones and began nibbling them down to the bone.

“No sense leaving good meat on those bones,” I added to answer her look of bewilderment. I am certain she has never had that happen before.

One of my secondary goals on these first dates, I forget the first, is to have the woman call her best friend on the way home and say, “You are not going to believe this one.”

I do believe I accomplished this with Judy.