Imran put his phone into his pants pocket and turned toward me. “What?”

“Never mind,” I said, giving him a slight wave, hoping he would move aside so I could shut the door. But he remained in place.

“Say, Leila, I was wondering: would you like to have dinner again with me tomorrow evening?” I could hear the phone vibrating from inside his pants.

“Will your phone be joining us?” I asked, trying not to look directly at his pulsating groin.

“Oh,” he said, brows stitched together. “Yes. Why?”

“No reason,” I said, turning away. “I’ll check my schedule and let you know.” I could see his face drop.

We stared at each other silently for a moment, the buzzing in his pants increasing in intensity by the second. Finally, when he couldn’t take it any longer, he pulled out the phone and looked at the screen.

“I’m sorry, would you mind—”

“Not at all,” I said as he walked a few feet away and accepted the call.

I shut the door and waited until he was a few minutes into his conversation about “yields and interest” before I backed up and drove away. One more down. An indefinite number to go.

Ambushed

I texted Imran later that night to let him know that I was busy tomorrow evening—and every consecutive evening for the unforeseen future—and continued with my search in the hopes that my luck would eventually change.

Thursday afternoon, I had lunch with Salim, an Indian businessman who proceeded to end the date by bluntly asking me if I was ready to get married because he wasn’t interested in “wasting time.” As #7: ROMANTIC as his proposal was, I decided a second date was probably not in my best interest.

Thursday evening, I went to dinner with Imad, a recently divorced man who spent the majority of the night convincing me that he was ready to move on and find the one. Nevertheless, when his ex-wife called him in the middle of dessert to “check in” and the ringtone “Nobody Knows It but Me” by Babyface came blasting through his phone, I quickly realized that he was not as ready as he claimed.

Friday afternoon, I had coffee with Karan, an accountant/magician who tried to impress me by making my credit card disappear. I would’ve been a lot more impressed had it not taken him another fifteen minutes to figure out how to get it back. Neither I nor the barista was very amused.

Friday night, I met up with Mo, a graphic designer who spent the evening reminding me of how his parents would not really “approve” of my career, as they preferred him to settle down with a doctor or a lawyer. When I asked him if that had anything to do with financial reasons, he looked offended. “Of course not. They obviously don’t expect her to practice medicine or law after marriage. It’ll be far too difficult with the children. They just want her to have the qualifications.”