Do you check your self-esteem at the door?

Alan Baker also ran an ad in the dating cesspool. He simply stated that he was a big goofball who really hated dating. So I answered in late August.

There was only one thing wrong with him "as far as I could tell"-he was merely separated from his wife. A detail I usually try to avoid. Notice I say "usually." But he does expand on the idea-separated as in another state.

It's slow moving at first. It takes a week of e-mailing back and forth and then he suggests chat. I secretly have to install an instant messenger- the things we'll do for a date. The chat is good but come on here; not looking for a pen pal either. He appears to be one of the most timid, shy men ever. And his soon to be ex-wife has clearly broken him.

Sometimes I think my entire purpose in life is to fix things. Even my business involves fixing things to some extent. Men are no different. Sadly once I've screwed their heads back on straight, they leave me. They don't need me anymore. Nearly all of my fixer-uppers marry the woman they date after me. There are few exceptions to this rule-one is on the suspicion list and one I'm trying to get back.

Anyways back to Alan. After typing my finger to little nubs I realize that if we're going to ever meet face to face I'm going to have to take charge. So I take a shower and then get on IM. The conversation goes as usual; a lot of flirting and silly banter but he's still not asking me out. While chatting I quickly compose an e-mail. Simple and to the point. Meet me at the Starbucks in 30 minutes or we're not chatting anymore.

In thirty minutes I see him loitering outside. He's much taller and much goofier than I had pictured. He's 36 going on about 14 and he's so self conscious he's got me looking at my shoes too. We get our coffee and begin an aimless walk through downtown. He's smart and really charming once the shyness wears off. He was married for 15 years and she wrecked him. Eventually we sit down on a bench under the guise of people watching. A quick meeting turns into a few hours and I realize while I'm sitting there that I do really like this geek. "What are you thinking about?" he questions, "you've got a funny look on your face." I smile and say nothing but turn myself so that my feet are between his and our knees touch. This is Rick's advice- for I was told that on our first few dates my body language was not good. It didn't appear that I was interested he said because my feet pointed away from him. Alan smiles a goofy smile. It would be the beginning of what I thought would be something.

A few weeks forward- I'm on my way to Alan's when Rick calls. We chat our usual chat work, family, seeing anyone? The tale of Alan begins. This is one of the few times Rick properly identifies me as happy. "You love him don't you?" And I try to lie. "You do. In fact you've already told him. How does this work?" Don't be silly I say, that would be insane. And mumble but true under my breath. We talk so long I actually arrive at Alan's while still talking to Rick. "Do I need to let you go?" No, Alan's cool and you're my friend. We chat for a few more minutes but I can tell he's uncomfortable with the idea. "It's good to hear you're happy," he says as he ends the conversation.

I look up and Alan is there watching me, "It's good to see that you do have a few friends to talk to."

Alan and I have dinner and he returns to his computer to finish his never ending work that he continually brings home. I crash on the couch-still in his line of sight- to read. I love to read but the book just isn't holding my interest. Soon I'm lost in my own thoughts of blue eyes and a gorgeous smile and what he would have said if I had ever told him that I loved him. "what are you thinking about?" Alan says "because you've got that funny look on your face again."

Alan and I would last only 6 weeks. we would never have a fight and I wouldn't see the end coming. The last thing I ever said to him in person was I love you.

It would come in the form of a short, terse email. My things are in a box on the porch. He's leaving the country for a while and doesn't know when he'll return. He has some things to fix for himself. Don't wait.

And as happy as I was the previous week now I am sad. I make the 30 minute drive to retrieve the dreaded cardboard box. There's no note inside, no reason, no apology just a big box of broken heart.

There's really only one person I really want to be with when this happens (as it all too frequently does). He knows that I've been crying, as he always does. And probably know the exact nature of my distress before he says he'll meet me at the local bar.

I never cry in front of him. That's one of our problems I think; he needs to see me vulnerable and I've just never been able to give into that. So we drink and he listens. And when my story comes to an end with my usual, "Why do I always have to fix them so that they can leave me?"

And the answer is brutal. "What do you do with these men? Check your self esteem at the door? I don't understand how you keep letting this happen."