Beads and boldness

The next time the Loons host a singles night, they need more beads. Lots more, especially green ones.

Seven of us went to the game last night. The idea was to celebrate my sister’s upcoming 40th birthday, but she didn’t know where my other sister was taking her, that other people were coming or that it was singles night. Once the blindfold was off she caught on quickly.

By the time I got to the back gate, the red “taken” beads all were gone. I had planned to wear one string of each, but had to settle for a green “single” strand. Then Friend A showed up beadless, apparently through the front and beadless gate, and I sent her to the back. When Friend S showed up the same way, the three of us made the walk together to try to fix things.

On the way I saw a reasonably cute guy who might pass muster and – not being real smooth about these things – grabbed him by the beads and said, “I have a sister.”

He seemed a little startled, so I repeated myself, still holding the beads. “I have a sister. She needs a buddy.”

“A buddy?”

I nodded. “A buddy. Someone to hang out with. A playmate.”

I was wondering whether that sounded too racy, but it didn’t matter because he hadn’t understood me.

“A primate?” he asked.

I laughed. Sure, a primate, I said, handing him her work phone number and my best recollection of where we were sitting. That’s what she gets for not offering any guidelines except “not too clean-cut.”

By the time we got to the gate, there were no more green beads. We saw many children wearing them, which was fine except we saw no real need there. Maybe they should have charged for them.

Where we did see need was at the speed dating. It was canceled for my sister’s age group because not enough men signed up. She has been to a couple of these events and said it’s a common problem. I propose that men not be told the true nature of the event, but instead be provided a pitcher of beer and a chance to win a TV or something if they stick around for an hour or so. This particular event was not speed dating, since people hardly ever seemed to move, but something more like eight-minute dating, which my sister said is great if you’re clicking and torture if you’re not.

There were some successes. On her own she introduced herself to someone, which didn’t lead to any number exchange but was a bold move nonetheless, and a far too young guy consented to take a picture of us three sisters, which we promptly e-mailed my father so he could replace the ancient one on his desk. We even placed a couple of bids in a silent bachelor auction, although when it got around $20 she backed out.

“He’s 22,” she said. “He’d be humoring me.”

“Maybe he has friends,” we pointed out.

OK, maybe four Loon employee bachelors hanging out at a Loons game with their four purchasers isn’t the ideal first date. But single and looking can be harsh, I was reminded last night. Have I mentioned lately how much I appreciate my husband?

I didn’t get to give away my last sticky note with my sister’s phone number on it, so I patted it onto her back as we were leaving. She wised up and twisted it off, so another opportunity lost, although probably not a prime one. Or is that primate?

This post originally appeared on, the online home of the Midland (MI) Daily News. Republished with permission.

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