​​​​​​Because humor is funnier when you know it's true.

Monica rules

I have a fun time at Blue Martini in Brickell with my friends. We like to go for happy hour after work. The bar bites are affordable—not an example of high cuisine but good enough—and, of course, they have plenty of martini options. My favorite is the Pink Passion with its dark magenta, sugary, crunchy rim. With my Blue VIP Lady card, my first cocktail is always free. Not bad at all.

I place the pink flower that decorates the glass over my left ear. It makes me feel like a tropical beauty.

With four small orchids tucked securely over my left ear, I dance with a tall, very handsome guy. I can barely hear him because of the music and conversations all around, and that is okay. I am enjoying myself. When he asks for my number, my pink drink-infused brain takes over, and I happily say yes. I cannot make out all the numbers he shares, so I hand him my adored iPhone with the “new contact” tab open and ready.

“Type your number there,” I yell, “and I will call you so you can have mine.”

He nods his head with enthusiasm and grabs my phone. I keep watch of what he does. I am not THAT drunk, no matter how much cocktail garnish I am wearing in my hair. He returns it with his number and no name, so I type “BlueMartiniDude.” I call him. I realize he cannot hear me either because he types “Monica” in his contacts when saving my number. It is actually not the first time a guy has changed my name from Marta to Monica. Go figure.

I do not correct him.

The next morning, he calls. I do not pick up. He leaves a message asking me out. Everything looks different in a sober world without the influence of pink alcohol. I vaguely remember that he is 25 years old. I think. Can that be possible? If true, he is younger than my baby sister. I was seventeen years old when Little Sister 3 was born. I could be her mother. Should I date a guy who could be my son? I am not even sure I remember him properly. Did I like him enough to excuse robbing the cradle? Does it matter? Embrace life and go for it? What to do. In the afternoon he calls again. I do not want to pick up until I know what to say. Instead, I take the easy way out and send a text message: “Sorry I missed your calls… what’s up?”

The 25-year-old texts back: “Baby, you KNOW what’s up” accompanied by a closeup of what I assume is his own penis because if he went online and chose a random photo, he did not select well. What a sad situation when a man has nothing to brag about— not his career, talents, or education—just the size of an appendage he had nothing to do with creating. Wouldn’t genetics be responsible for its size? If there were compliments to share, they would go to his parents. “Hey mom and dad! Kudos on your son’s big wiener!” And this one is mediocre at best. Shows his lack of intelligence boasting about this. Look at that, sharing a dick pic does show a man’s acuity.

At least now I know what to do.

Monica texts, “I’ve seen better".

Blocked.

- Marta A Oppenheimer

Marta A Oppenheimer is a twice divorced woman searching for love in Miami, the land of palm trees, hurricane warnings, and Kim Kardashian lookalikes. In between dates, Marta is a published writer, graphic artist, spoken word performer, and a non-profit animal rescue group volunteer.

Marta’s stories have appeared on Chicken Soup for the Soul, Miami Living Magazine, TrueHumor.com, Ariel Chart International Literary Journal, and performed on The Moth Miami StorySlam, Miami Book Fair, Lip Service Stories: True Stories Told Out Loud, Raw Storytelling: Live True Storytelling Show, and The Only in Miami Show on Jolt Radio. The short story, “Love in a Pumpkin”, became a short film and an Official Selection 2022 for the Havana Film Festival in New York City. You can read more about her romance perils at: thedatingdaysofmartao.com and on Facebook: facebook.com/thedatingdaysofmartao but keep in mind that dating after 40 is for the brave.