dealbreaker

My blind date, Scott, likes college hoops, \’80s TV and helping others. I like his cute tuchus. I\’m thinkin\’ we\’d make a fine pair of Jews. We stray from the first date playbook and follow a Santa Monica dinner with a Main Street stroll. As we walk past yet a third unique boutique on our way to get dessert (that we don\’t want) and more time together (which we do), Scott says those three little words that can rock a girl\’s world. \”There\’s my car.\”

It\’s a PT Cruiser — washed and waxed today, valid registration, parked less than 12 inches from the curb. No fuzzy dice, high school tassel or pine-scented Playmate air freshener. The car doesn\’t scream \”show-off\” or \”shady,\” Speed Racer or gas guzzler. What it screams is middle-aged dad. More specifically — my dad.