The Stockbroker

Friends! Help! I’m turning P.S. Please Don’t be a Serial Killer into a book but the literary agent I’ve been talking with says I need to lose some stories. What are your thoughts…is The Stockbroker a keeper or a stinker?!?


That’s how I would describe my date with The Stockbroker.

Shane was someone who I had been on again/off again chatting with via Plenty of Freaks for the last several weeks.

He seemed to have a good sense of humor and realistic view point when it came to dating, so when he asked for my number and to call me that night I didn’t mind giving him the coveted digits.

Thinking back, I remember exactly what his profile said because his bluntness had caught me off-guard. Within his self-description he actually had the balls to say he would pay for the first two dates, but after that he expected 50/50. Wowza.

As you can tell from my previous stories I have no trouble picking up the bill. I realize women are so strange about that these days and all of us have a different perspective. Some of us want you to pay for everything, others of us want to dominate you with our independence while silently proclaiming “I don’t need no man,” (Insert overly feminist voice here) and then there’s a few like myself. We support ourselves, and while we greatly appreciate men who pay for everything, we don’t mind at all picking up the check once in a while.

Shane and I had a great conversation that night, and decided upon an upscale pizza restaurant in the city for our first meet-up.

Unfortunately, I was about thirty minutes late. I had been working earlier that night, and getting ready for the date had taken longer than planned. I had been texting Shane while driving with apologies, and he seemed to be gracious, but when I arrived I could tell he was a bit peeved. It certainly was not the kind of impression I was hoping to make.

We had sarcastic conversation over dinner, and afterwards he asked if I wanted to get a drink with him at a nearby bar.

Throughout the night, I had learned Shane was big on traveling…to Disney World. He and his family went every year. Now I’m not a hater when it comes to fairy-tales, and I happen to love amusement parks, but when a grown, single man, with no kids tells you he’s been to visit Mickey Mouse over ten times, I have my doubts regarding chemistry.

Shane also seemed to have had some negative dating experiences with single mothers. He told me a few bad relationship tales of how they would only talk about their children, or they couldn’t go somewhere he wanted to because they couldn’t find a babysitter in time. Well duh dude! Don’t date women with kids then.

As we left the bar I spotted a glowing sign for a psychic in the building across the street.

“$20 Palm Readings,” the sign read.

Smiling I looked at Shane, nodded my head toward the sign and said, “are you up for it?”

“Sure!” he answered.

We walked up the stairs of the old city building and knocked on a mysterious door. A young gypsy answered and I asked if we could get our palms read. She ushered me into the room and told Shane he’d have to wait outside.

As I sat across from the tiny, elf-like woman she asked for my right hand and my birthdate.

“Oh my!” She exclaimed, “Such a long life line.”

The gypsy happily informed me I would live well into my 90s. She said that my money line was thin in my younger years (no kidding lady) but as I aged money would find me. I tried pushing her for a specific age I could begin to expect the urge to jump off a cliff every time I look at my student loan balance to fade away, but she just laughed at the question instead.

“And oh interesting,” she continued, “you have a soulmate.”

Even though I realize a Chicago gypsy is no real gypsy at all, and palm reading is a load of hogwash, it was as though that warm ball of intuition at the top of my rib cage had been validated.

“When will I meet him?” I inquired as cool as I could.

“You already know him.” He’s been in your life for a while now.”

My mind began racing as she ushered my through her doorway and took The Stockbroker into her tiny cubbyhole.

As I sat on her steps I recalled all of the dates I had been on in the last year. My brain button had automatically hit rewind and I was rushing past the faces of dates long ago. No one stuck out. No one made me question whether or not I had missed an opportunity. I laughed at myself as I realized how seriously I was taking this gypsy. While I don’t know much, I know enough to understand that as human beings we can believe anything we want to.

Walking back to my car with The Stockbroker, I mentally measured the portfolio of the man beside me. All in all, Shane was on the immature side of life. While his job was impressive, I had gotten the impression he had “fallen into” it, rather than worked hard for his position. Moreover, when I asked him specifics on how he went about making money for his clients and trading stocks, he refused to tell me because he had felt women in his past had used him for “stock tips.”


As I climbed in my car he made joked about having kids together and building a room in the house just for sex. On the outside I was laughing, but on the inside all I could think was, “get real dude.” I knew for a fact that the gypsy was absolutely wrong about one thing. I had not met my soulmate yet.