A Totally Un-Memorable Dinner Date
by Lydia Bogar
Howling laughter from my tweenage daughters–one in the dining room window and the other peeking out from the shutters in the living room, scoping out my date, Tom. “Oh Mom, you’re gonna die!”
My friends Cheryl and Jay said that Tom, an engineer, worked with Jay in Foxboro and lived on “The Lake” in Webster. Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg. (Yeah, that Lake. Even the New York Times has written about it.
Only child. Never married. No kids. Wicked smart. Very shy. Dour expression.
We spoke once on the phone before that Sunday night dinner date but did not get beyond directions to my house and what a nice guy Jay is.
I have no memory of the drive from my house to the dining room at the Marriott in downtown Worcester. Maybe fifteen minutes that I will never get back.
I do remember the table for two but not the conversation. I have no memory of appetizer, entrée, or dessert. Was there wine? Oh God, I hope so.
Quiet ride back to my house. Walked me to the door. I shook his hand with the other hand on the door knob.
The tweens were waiting.
“What? Really, he seems like a nice guy–but boring.”
The howling started again. “Mom, we could have told you that as soon as we saw his pocket protector!”
I didn’t tell them about the second pocket protector (for mechanical pencils) he had clipped to his shirt pocket.
Tom married a few years later, a diminutive Asian lady with a PhD in something. It was a society wedding by Worcester standards because of the family compound of homes on The Lake that he inherited when he turned 50.
Yes. Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg.
Block. Copy. Paste.
Sure, beats having to spell it.
Our own “Renaissance Woman,” Lydia has done everything from teaching English to doing volunteer emergency service. She says she “hails from Woosta– educated at BOLLI.”