Let me begin by stating that I’m not the one with the problem. For example, last week I met Nick for the first time. We connected on a dating app and then decided to meet after a week of torturous back and forth about where he’s from, how many men he’s been with, and what he likes to do in the bedroom or public bathroom or you name the place. Needless to say, I had some concerns. I always have concerns.

I’m going to tell you what Nick did, but I don’t want you to judge him; I’ll explain why later. We met at a coffee shop in town. Well it was a Duncan Donuts to tell you the truth. Not my first choice, but I know I can be just a bit controlling and a food snob, so every once in a while, I give in. We sat down, realized we had to go to the counter first — I find this bit extremely pedestrian. I mean, come on, where are we, Peoria, Illinois? This is Miami for Christ’s sake. We ordered coffee and a donut; each paying for our own food and drink (although he did glance over at me before he paid; he seemed to be saying, “are you really making me pay for myself?), and sat down. Now this is where the trouble begins. Nick removes the donut from his bag and proceeds to close his eyes to pray before he takes a bite.

I ask, what are you doing? Not because I have an issue with religion, but, in fact, because I have an issue with Zealots. By that I mean people who are fanatics about their religion — making you feel as if you’re a bad person if you don’t participate. Nick didn’t make me feel that way . . . yet.

Twenty minutes in he revealed that he had certain fetishes. You see where this is going, religious enough that he prays over a donut, but it’s okay to want me to lick his leather boots in the bedroom. I know it’s a minor thing, but clearly, there will not be a second date.

The next guy I don’t want you to judge, is in fact, a judge. He sits on the Miami state Supreme court and we dated for a bit. I mean, I don’t care if you’re a judge, just don’t impose those courtroom rules on me. His name is Craig. Nice enough guy Craig; a bit uptight, somewhat officious in places like the city zoo or when dining with others, but he likes dogs. I can overlook a lot if you like dogs.

Craig’s a tiny bit closeted. It’s okay to be seen together on the subway or at a baseball game, but you can’t get closer than five feet anywhere else. Not easy if you want to go to the movies. Special circumstances though, Craig is a judge after all, and I know I can be uptight.

We were out on our third date and this happened: Craig caved regarding his rule not to be seen in certain public places, because he wanted to see The Book of Mormons and I had a friend who could get us great seats. I figured I’d be a standup guy, so I treated and paid for the tickets. Craig appreciated the gesture, yet still refused to eat out before going to the theater. I’m thinking baby steps. We enjoyed the first act, went to the theater bar at intermission. On our way back to our seats, we bump into one of his fellow judges. The guy introduces himself to me. I can see Craig is sweating and fidgety. Before I could say anything, Craig pipes up and says,

“This is Scott, my barber. Scott had an extra ticket for tonight’s show so I bought it off of him. We better get back to our seats or we’ll miss the second act.”

So long Craig. I wish you nothing but sanctimony and a life filled with boredom.

I second guess myself sometimes, I do. Am I sabotaging every relationship before it gets too serious. Maybe you should be the judge.

I didn’t date for a couple of years because of one particular guy who went out of his way to piss me off. We were on a Tinder date — I should note here that I like Tinder, even though I have never had a successful Tinder date. He showed up for the date looking quite a bit different than his posted photo. When I asked him about it, he said that he’d had a difficult year. I’m almost certain he is now 10 to 15 years older than he was in his photo. Still handsome, I was willing to let it go. Well up until he asked me when I had lost my hair and then proceeded to ask me why I hadn’t had transplant surgery to, “correct the problem.” See you later whatever your name is.

Being single is easier and healthier for one’s self-esteem. And I doubt it’s any different for heterosexuals by the way.

There are more stories, however, I have blocked most of them out in order to preserve my sanity and my faith in mankind.

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Also, a reminder that my stories are now works of fiction (I noted when that happened in a past blog post). As with all writers, I draw from my past experiences, embellishing as I write — that’s the fun part.

My trip to Krakow was good for the soul. It was an easy, peaceful, thought provoking journey. Poland is not how most people imagine it to be; it is progressive, a gastronomical wonder, beautiful, and extremely welcoming. I’m so glad I made the trip.