Uncle Exhausted

He seemed old and tired, as if life exhausts him. And it probably does, since he's three-and-a-half years into a long drawn-out divorce he considers needless. I knew almost as soon as I walked into the restaurant overlooking the city that this was not going to work for me. He claims he's 58, eight years older than me by birth, but he seems 20 years older. It felt as if I were having a drink with an uncle who spends all his free time playing golf or drinking high balls at the country club bar.

He pulled out my chair for me. He stood up when I returned from the bathroom to our table. He helped me put on my sweater when it started to cool off on the veranda of this old, faded restaurant that is at least 25 years past its prime -- like a movie starlet who was once stunning, but is now "merely" beautiful for a woman in her 70s.

When the waitress came by to see if we wanted another round, "Uncle Exhausted" asked her to tell the bartender not to put any ice in his seven & seven. I switched from a glass of wine to lemonade. I was driving. 

He rolled his eyes constantly -- like a Middle School girl stuck at a wedding with her mortifying family. He rolled his eyes when he told me the mess his 10-year-old son makes when he stays with him every other weekend. He rolled his eyes when he told me about "the lecture" he received that day from a friend who thinks gluten is poison. He rolled his eyes when he talked about the self-important CEOs and captains of industry he used to encounter in his previous career as an investment banker. If I rolled my eyes as often as he did, I would give myself migraines.

I was surprised I had so misjudged him based on his dating profile. He spent part of his childhood growing up in several European countries, the son of well traveled teachers. And he likes to garden, spend time in the woods, and ski. But I kicked myself for ignoring the gigantic red flags I now see conspicuously waving in his dating profile. Tellingly, Uncle Exhausted used the word "stoked" to describe his love of skiing. Stoked -- a word at least 20 years out of date -- the "awesome" of the early 90s. He also cops to drinking instant coffee every morning -- the horror! Who drinks instant coffee, except my 79-year-old father when he's camping and astronauts? But the real warning I ignored was when he told me, "ABBA really gets a party going!" Um... not any parties *I* attend.

He gently complained to the waitress about how watered down his drink was, even though the second one came with no ice as he had ordered. I squirmed in my chair, embarrassed to be an unfortunate witness to this. He emanated a palpable sadness as he nursed his second cocktail and recounted his two failed marriages and his two careers. I wondered if he is an accidental alcoholic, self-medicating with booze and solitude. It was easy to feel compassion for him -- he's a nice guy. But I was stoked when the date was over, as if someone had interrupted the funeral dirge playing all evening to get the party going with Dancing Queen.