You Don't Know My Name | Dating In Midlife

Photo by Julian Myles on Unsplash

Lately I’ve found myself wiggling my ring finger. Honestly, I don’t know why. The last time I wore a ring on that finger was 16 years ago, when my divorce from the father of my sons became final (I’ve been married twice, which is why I phrased it that way).

Until now, I’ve never noticed that my finger no longer bared a ring. Maybe it’s because I was too busy trying to keep my head above water and survive as a single parent. Since the passing of my youngest son, there have been a few random moments were I’ve found myself missing having a ring on that particular finger. Each time this happens, a wave of confusion washes over me as I desperately try to figure out why I’m feeling this way.

Now here’s the funny part...although my last serious relationship ended almost 9 years ago, and I haven’t been on a date in 6 years, there is someone that I have a crush on - they guy who works at my local post office.

I’ve had a crush on him since 2019. And no, I don’t know his name - I’ve never asked.

We don’t interact often because most of my business is done with UPS, but when I find myself in my local post office my heart literally drops to my stomach if he is working the counter, and I am usually tongue tied if he waits on me, lol. I have to gather myself every time, because my nerves have me discombobulated!

Honestly, I never thought he noticed me. Like imagine all of the people who utilize a post office on a daily bases over the years…why would he notice me? But on a recent trip to the post office, I was stunned when he revealed he actually did remember me!

I was trying to mail some fliers regarding an end of school music event I am hosting for my late sons foundation. The envelopes I use are always a bright yellow. He joked because I had not purchased enough stamps and had to come back a few minutes later and purchase more. “How do you not know how many stamps you need?” he chuckled. I felt butterflies like a 16 year old. I shrugged and answered, “I guess I miscounted.” Then I walked out for the second time in 10 minutes, only to return moments later because I couldn’t get my post office box to open. He shook his head, asked for my post office box number and disappeared. When he returned, he smiled and stated, “It’s opened now. You can try your key, but you don’t have any mail.” I smiled, thanked him, and left..quickly.

Well a week later I returned, mailing out more fliers in those yellow envelopes. And yes, I needed more stamps. He noticed the yellow envelopes and asked who sold them, and why did I always use colors other than white. I smiled. He smile. Then I explained that yellow stands out, and people will quickly open a bright piece of mail because it catches their attention. I was surprised that he remembered those envelopes from the previous visit. “Ya’ll, he remembered!!!” He gave me a book of flag stamps, but his co-worker quickly stepped in, “Now you just complimented her on her yellow envelopes, and you’re going to give her those boring stamps?!” She smiled at me before handing me some musical stamps instead. He rolled his eyes at his coworker before returning his gaze to me and laughing, “I wasn’t trying to insult her.” His coworker countered, “With those boring stamps - yes you were!” We all laughed before I purchased the festive book of stamps she had shared, told everyone to have a good day, and I left…still not knowing his name.

No, he doesn’t wear a wedding ring, which in this day and age doesn’t mean anything. He’s not from the area. He’s a transplant from New Orleans who relocated to my small community (I gathered that information while standing in line once and he was conversing with a patron about Mardi Gras and the parades in New Orleans). He has a beautiful smile, and nice muscles that peek out from his uniform shirts, and from what I’ve noticed over the years, he also has a great disposition.

Yes, this sums up my love life; infrequent trips to the post office staring at the postal worker, lol. My friend Emily says I need to get out of the house if I want to meet a man. The crazy thing is that I do get out, but I guess the places I go to (book festivals, restaurants, library, bookstores, and Starbucks) aren’t places where single men hang out. Shrugs shoulders

As I approach the age of 55, I sometimes find myself wondering if I’ll ever get to experience life with my forever person, or will my guilty pleasures equate to small talk with the postal worker about yellow envelopes and stamps, and sometimes missing wearing a wedding ring? Deep sigh… Time will tell.