Yesterday I explained how turning thirty brought a shifting in my goals. I had a successful career but I wanted a family. I decided to go about acquiring one in a similar fashion to how I approached business, starting with finding a husband. Step one was advertising.

Read Part One HERE

Continuing with part two of…

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The Executive’s Guide to Husband-Hunting (part 2)

One fellow’s typed letter caught my eye, however, for its unique blend of humble honesty and personal rhetoric. In it he wrote (excerpted with spelling, punctuation, and grammar errors intact and author’s name changed):

“DEAR F-5204

I am sure that people who type an answer to your add seems a little bit impersonal, however I have a good reason my hand writing and spelling really SUCKS and I want you to be able to read my reply… JOHN

Phone number after 5:00 PM sorry I have no resent photo of my self However, my drawing is worse than my hand writing.”

In the lower margin he drew a stick figure labeled “me.”

I put him on the list, near the bottom, but an honorable mention at least.

Eventually, I waded through the sea of Yes’ that were really Nos and reached John. I called him, after five o’clock, as he’d instructed. We chatted for an hour because he was easy to talk with and had a good sense of humor. We arranged the “safe date”—meet for drinks in a public place, early start, early end, no strings.

In the meantime, I reread some of my rejections and found two more from John in response to earlier ads I’d placed, handwritten notes I’d rejected because his handwriting really did suck. In one he’d included a picture of himself. I remembered it and thought he had nice forearms, but that hadn’t been enough to earn him a Yes. While “nice forearms” might sound like something you say about a person when there is nothing else of merit, I really do notice that part of man’s body. He’d been photographed in Australia, sweater sleeves pushed up, a traveler, as he’d written. He really did have brown hair and really did look like he weighed 175 pounds. In his letter, he’d requested that I return his photo. At the time, I’d laughed and muttered, “As if,” then stuffed it back in the envelope with the letter, and bundled it with the other Nos.

Our date went well. Three hours later, we said our goodbyes with no future plans to meet or call. We hung in limbo, both digesting a massive meal of the other that tasted delicious but neither of us sure yet whether it was enough nutrition to survive on for any length of time, much less a lifetime.

Over the next three days, I thought about John a lot.  Our values and senses of humor tracked in cozy, parallel lines. But he never called. In another bold move, I called him . . . maybe not that bold, considering it was midday and I assumed he’d be at work. My plan was to leave a brief message on his answering machine to remind him of my existence and indirectly let him know that if he called I’d be receptive to seeing him again.

His phone rang once, twice, and I cleared my throat, prepared to leave my rehearsed message on his machine.

“Hello?”

…to be continued tomorrow!

Thank you to all who’ve visited me so far! I’m falling way behind visiting YOUR blogs, being on vacation, but I promise to do some major catching up when I return Easter weekend.

For more A to Z blogging goodness, check out the other participants at the host site.

Ten (10) days until my debut novel, The P.U.R.E. releases! While you’re here, check out my Easter blog hop. I’m giving away a free copy of my book and/or a gift card as a prize.

Two years ago, I was a finalist in the Cup-of-Comfort/Redbook YOUR LOVE STORY CONTEST. From the 63 essays chosen from over 2000 entries, they narrowed that down to 50 to include in the book, Cup of Comfort for Couples. Guess who was one of the lucky 13 cut?  Ouch. I’ve sat on this monument to dashed hopes ever since, never once re-reading or even considering it for publication elsewhere. I’m finally ready to share this very personal story of how I met and married my husband. This would have been my print publication debut. Thankfully, I’m pretty tenacious and didn’t let this rejection derail me. I have had a few successes (and a lot more rejections) since then.

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The Executive’s Guide to Husband-Hunting

 I’ve always been a take-charge kind of person, and when I truly make up my mind about wanting something, I am a force to be reckoned with. You might think that such a cool and calculating approach does not apply to finding love, but you’d be wrong.

In college, I wanted a career. I pursued it, got it, and succeeded. As I neared thirty, I wanted a family. An expert shopper, I wondered whether a husband, the first prerequisite to having a family, could be secured as easily as a new set of cookware from QVC. Today’s Special Value: Male, early thirties, low miles, sense of humor; easy pay option available . . . Well, probably not.

So I put the word out to my friends: I was ready for blind dates; send them my way. Crickets chirped, eyes rolled, no dates appeared. Clearly, my expiration date as “a nice girl with a pleasant personality” had come and gone. This was going to be harder than I thought.

My single friends and I went to clubs and bars. I might have been a little naïve at times, but I was no dummy. I quickly learned that when it came to the men I met at these places, my higher objective ran counter to their lower ones.

After more dead-ends at my church, gym, and grocery store, I knew I had to dig deeper, take greater chances. It was time to advertise for a man. Back then, personal ads were for losers, and anyone sinking that low kept it hush-hush in mixed company. There was no eHarmony, Match.com, or Facebook then. We used crude methods unheard of by most twenty-first–century singles: newspapers and letters. I cajoled a friend into placing an ad with me, to keep it light and to minimize the social stigma. I don’t remember what I wrote, but I do remember I received many replies. It was like screening employment candidates: too needy; too many ex-wives, too many kids, too old, bad handwriting, nothing in common. The piles of “yes,” “no,” and “maybe” began to accumulate. Some sent pictures, which probably was not wise in many cases.

I read the men’s ads, too, but never had the nerve to mail my own reply. I’d pour through their ads and circle the possibilities, but that was it. I didn’t want to blindly hand over my phone number to a man based solely on a four-line ad. But I was more than willing to call a few who’d mailed theirs to me.

With a boldness born from determination, I called and set up “safe dates.” I’ll summarize what I learned early on from those first few dates: They were nothing like I’d expected. The men lied, exaggerated, and misled in their letters. Oh, I could see the kernels of truth behind their words, but sadly that’s all they were—kernels. Citing your high school weight and saying you have dark brown hair is fine if you enclose a time machine with the letter that your three-hundred–pound, bald-headed self pops in the mail. Not that I’m only about appearances, but such a blatant lie is not the best way to start a relationship.

…to be continued tomorrow!

Thank you to all who’ve visited me so far! I’m falling way behind visiting YOUR blogs, being on vacation, but I promise to do some major catching up when I return Easter weekend.

For more A to Z blogging goodness, check out the other participants at the host site.

Eleven (11) days until my debut novel, The P.U.R.E. releases!