As if in answer to my question, Mrs. Pechter took me aside after class and said, “You know my grandson Morris? The one I wrote about? He’s an accountant. Very comfortable.”

She smiled proudly.

“That’s wonderful,” I said.

“And single.”

“Oh?”

“I thought maybe he could call you up for a date.”

My smile froze. Whoa, Nelly. Yes, I know I said I wanted to meet a Morris of my own, but I didn’t mean an actual guy named Morris. Call me shallow, but my dream man is not an accountant named Morris. He’s an artist named Zane, or a chef named Sergio.

“Gee, that’s awfully sweet of you, Mrs. Pechter, but—”

But what? What the heck was I going to say to her? I don’t date accountants named Morris?

“—but I’m seeing someone.”

“You have a boyfriend?” She seemed surprised, a fact which I found vaguely insulting.

“Yes, I do.”

“What does he do, this boyfriend of yours?”

“Uh, he’s an actor.”

It was the first thing that popped into my mind. I remembered the termite impersonator Kandi wanted to fix me up with, so I used him as my phantom boyfriend.

“An actor? Have I seen him in anything?”

“Actually, he plays a termite on a cartoon show.”

“Oy,” was her eloquent response. “You’re dating a termite?”

What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I have said I was dating a doctor?

“Hey, you forgot your flower.”

Mr. Goldman was at my side, holding out the rose from Mrs. Sobol’s funeral wreath.

“Oh, right,” I said, taking it gingerly.

“So how about it, cookie?” he winked/blinked. “You want to come to the movies with me on Saturday?”

Saturday night was movie night at Shalom.

“They’re playing Sleeping in Seattle.”

“Sleepless in Seattle, Abe,” Mrs. Pechter corrected. “Not sleeping.”

“Sleepless, sleeping. Who cares? You wanna come with me, cookie?”

“She can’t, Abe. She’s already got a boyfriend.”

“She does?”

Why was everybody so damned surprised?

“In that case,” he said, “I want my flower back.”

He took his rose and stomped off. Mr. Goldman always gets angry at me when I turn him down for dates. But sooner or later, much to my regret, he cools off and starts hitting on me again.

I bid the other ladies goodnight, and headed out the door. The last thing I heard was Mrs. Rubin saying, “She’s dating a termite?”

As it turns out, I was about to date a termite. When I let myself into my apartment that night, the phone was ringing.

“Hi,” a deep male voice said, “This is Ted Lawson.”

At first, I had no idea who he was.

“Ted Lawson?”

“Kandi’s friend.”

“Oh. Tommy the Termite.”

He laughed. “Four years studying at the Actors’ Studio, and I wind up playing a termite. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except that I get second billing to a cockroach.”

At least he had a sense of humor about himself.

“Anyhow, I was wondering if you wanted to get together for dinner Saturday night.”