The Wolf, Part I

"But, grandmother, what big eyes you have" stated Red, looking skeptically at the new-and-improved grandmother--who also seemed to have sprouted a permanent fur coat in the summer.

"The better to see you with, my dear," replied the grandmother, whose eyes, significantly larger than Red remembered them, bulged out of her eyes, looking to invite trouble.

"But, grandmother, what big ears you have" said Red, while wondering if her grandmother's ears had always sported tufts of dark grey hair and pointed toward the ceiling.

"The better to hear you with, my dear," replied the "grandmother," whose ears looked like they could hear the future.

"But grandmother, what big teeth you have" said Red, one eyebrow raised while looking at two sharpened bicuspids that could easily tear through a piece of raw steak.

At this point in the story, I always wondered why Red stayed around. Even as a kid, I knew that a wolf in a dressing gown is just that--a wolf in a dressing gown. And, no good can come of that kind of wolf.

Last summer I met a guy who is a used car salesman. He is the stereotype of every used car salesman that you can conjure up. He's also 60ish. He's also quite taken with me.

Anyway, for a year, I would see this guy at the Greek restaurant near my residence or at the cigar bar next to the Greek restaurant. We'd chop it up, talk for a little bit, and he'd compliment me incessantly. He'd compliment my hips. He'd compliment my smile. He'd compliment my hair. He'd compliment my dress, my shoes, my pedicure, my eyes, and whatever else his wandering eyes found to focus on. Honestly, it was nice. Who doesn't like compliments?

There was only one thing about this guy that kind of skeeved me out: every single time he looked at me, I felt exactly the way Red felt when she saw the wolf. "Hmhphh, " he grunt, while looking me up and down the way a wolf would eye the fat ass of a lamb, "the trouble I could get in to with you." I'd smile and think about the can of Mace: Man Off I kept in the pocket in my purse.

But I digress. A while back he gave me a call and we talked about going out. He asked if he could come with me to a wine bar/restaurant and I said sure. Honestly, the wolf--even with his wandering eyes-- was very non-threatening.

So we get to the restaurant and we end up in a circular booth. Not a problem. He sat on one side, I resigned myself to the other.

We talk about work and the other kind of small chitchat about the minutiae of life. But, as we talked, he inched closer to me. I inched closer away.

"How was your day," he'd ask and ever-so-slightly scoot in my direction.

"Kind of busy, but good," I replied and shifted to the right.

"Big project?" he asked, and scooted to the right.

"Yeah," scoot, scoot, "My boss wants me to work on _____" I replied.

"That sounds interesting," he replied, while he took a long scoot to the right, all the while looking at me like I was the last piece of sweet potato pie on Thanksgiving. He grabbed my left hand.

Now I had a bit of a predicament: I had reached the end of the booth. Another scoot from me would initiate the beginning of "ass-out-of-booth," and end with "ass-on-floor."

I thought quickly: The Ladies' Room. The Ladies' Room is a fail-proof refuge for women, as men seem to be a bit afraid of The Ladies' Room.

Thanks for tuning in to "The Wolf, Part I." For the conclusion of this installment of "The Dating Experiment," check back on Wednesday.