That's Life: My Late-Night Dates

By Phyllis McGuire
iBerkshires Columnist
03:20PM / Monday, November 24, 2008

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When my husband, Bill, died, I marked the date on a calendar, noting "The day my world ended."

In time, I did find the path to healing, and now live the way Bill would want. "Seize the day," he used to say. But I have never even thought of trying to replace Bill. It would be impossible.

I have entertained an unmarried male, however, who is always welcome in my home. He likes to sit next to me on the sofa and chat about soccer and hockey. Sometimes we play checkers, sometimes we play cards. Depending on the time of year, I serve him hot cocoa and cookies or ice cream.

In a couple of hours, there is a knock on the door, and when I open it, I am not surprised to see my friend's mother. We smile at each other knowingly and then she says, "His dinner is ready" or "It's time for his bath."

My friend was 7 when I, with his mother's permission, invited him to play softball with my grandchildren. For some reason, he thought I was "cool." He has grown a lot since then, but I hope he never outgrows liking to spend time with me.

Once I was torn between two men and I could not dangle them in a web of deception, even if I was so inclined; they both called on me at 11:30 every night.

I remember that years ago when my daughter Jennifer, then a teenager, went out with her friends, I insisted she return home by 11:30. "No one has to be home that early," she would whine.

Nor was she happy the Saturday I refused to let her borrow my house key. At that point, she had already lost three keys. But Jennifer was persistent, and I finally gave in, handing her my key. As I watched her walk out the door into the rain, I wished she had taken an umbrella or, at least, worn a scarf around her head.
 
About an hour later, a friend informed me that a robbery had been committed in a house in our neighborhood. "He (the culprit) came in the front door, and almost scared poor Madge (the homeowner) to death." My imagination took flight and I envisioned the missing keys to our front door falling into the wrong hands.
 
That night I pushed a captain's chair against the front door. "Now if anyone tries to get in, I'll hear them," I reassured myself.
 
Intending to open the door for Jennifer when she returned, I sat on the sofa — wrapped in an afghan — and read Erma Bombeck's "If Life Is a Bowl of Cherries, What Am I Doing in the Pits?" When my head began to bob, I put down the book and shut my eyes. "I'll rest a few minutes," I said to myself.

It was nearly one o'clock when I was awakened by what sounded like someone breaking into the house. I jumped up from the sofa, grabbed a statue of St. Jude — it was the heaviest thing on a nearby shelf, besides St. Jude has never failed me — and peeked out the window in the living room.

Thankfully, I saw that it was not an intruder creating the racket that had frightened me, but only Jennifer. She was standing at the front door, one foot raised in what, undoubtedly, was to be another attempt to kick in the door. "Stop," I screamed."

When I let Jennifer in, she explained that when she was unable to open the door using the key, she assumed the door had swollen because to the rain, which had happened occasionally. There was no reason to ask why she had not simply rung the bell, as I surmised she had wanted to avoid my finding out she was an hour and a half late.

Jennifer and I made a pact that night; I promised to never again "barricade" the front door, and she promised to be careful with the new key I would have made up the next day. We also agreed to a 12:30 curfew for Saturday nights.
 
I never gave a key to my home to either of the two men I had been torn between. And if I happened to be dozing when they came to call on me, they did not cause a disturbance, but patiently waited for me to let them in.

I have found a way to keep it secret that I am seeing both of them. You see, I tape "The Tonight Show with Jay Leno" while watching "The Late Show with David Letterman" both of which air from 11:30 to 12:30 weeknights. Thus neither Jay or Dave know I am two-timing them and, frankly, I see no harm in it. After all, they have wives, and I am not looking for a husband.

My relationship with Jay and Dave has run very smoothy. They work long hours to come up with ways to amuse me, yet they do not expect anything from me. And when I ditch them to go out with my "in the flesh" friends, they do not complain. They just keep doing their thing, whether I am watching or not.

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