Dating at 40 is not easy. But I was willing to try.

Editor's note: A version of this story, made by the author, cattle he Los Angeles Affairs Live storytelling event on April 3.

I'm committed. Which I didn't think would ever happen.

When I was 40 years old, I was in love with someone. We lived together and had been together for seven years. I thought that would be my last relationship. Then he broke up with me and I was suddenly dumped at 46 years old. I was terrified that this would be my last relationship.

I don't know if you've ever had the experience of being single in Los Angeles when you're 40, but I don't recommend it. None out of 10. All with approval. I felt like I missed the last helicopter out of Nam, like I was running after a couple while bombs were exploding around me and I was screaming, “Nnnnnooooooooooo!!” And I might add, “I know it's not working, but don't go gggggooooooooo!!!” how I managed with everything I had to not be left behind.

I felt like I had to concede, “Well, then dying alone is what it means.”

I know that a relationship is not the answer to everything. But I felt so abandoned. It was terrifying and I broke down. My fall was cushioned by many Dominos and DoorDash. But I still fell and it hurt.

Finally, I recovered and tried again. I got on the apps. We all know about dating apps. That's where you go on a website and make up a bunch of lies to trick someone into loving you.

I had used them off and on for years and always lied. Not even to misrepresent myself. I just didn't know what to say. What did the kids want to hear? What would catch your attention in a sexy little headline? I figured the kids liked “Star Wars.” So for a long time my sexy little headline was: “Han shot first.” I wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but I have a cute, nerdy friend who says it. He thought it was meaningful, so I tried it. I could also have written “Just love me!!!” I tried to cast a wide net.

But this time when I started dating, I decided to be honest and not out of any kind of virtue. Frankly, I felt too old and tired to find a game to play, and I recommend it for dating profiles. Before you sign up, give up. So this time for my sexy little headline, I wrote: “Very long-winded, nerdy, and somewhat robust.” I put it all out there. Full disclosure. I won't walk on the beach with you, but I will play Scrabble. This is what I am. If I lie, I die.

Not many people responded, but one did.

We started messaging each other, got a few calls, and felt like we would like each other. So we agreed to have dinner. It's a seemingly simple thing to set up, but when I asked him where he wanted to eat, he was taken aback. He said, “You choose the place. I don't know where to go. I'm not good at making plans. You make the plan. I can follow it, but I'm not a good planner!” Which is a strange red flag, right? I considered canceling. Then I considered the fact that my ex was great at making plans to see other women while we were together.

I thought maybe it was time to not plan.

We decided to meet at the Smoke House in Burbank. Brian is a jazz trumpeter and a bit of a veteran. So I thought you would love this place. Plus, those cheesy garlic breadsticks are heaven.

I dressed very elegant for our date. I normally dress like a drunk art teacher, but I didn't know how many more first dates I had in me. (I know I said not to try too hard on the profile and I stand by that). To know real life, I had to make it count. Dating can be exhausting. I'm not very fond of dressing up. My friends helped me and I made everything: cute boots, skirt, neckline, curls, face paint. All of this.

When I arrived at the restaurant, he was waiting at the host stand. We saw each other for the first time. The moment of truth. No one looks exactly like their photo. It's always a little better or worse. We looked at each other across the hallway and shared smiles that suggested, “Sure. Why not?” Which is all you need. You don't need fireworks or an angelic choir singing at first sight. You just want the door arm to go up.

What happened next changed my life.

We were shown to our table. Brian walked ahead of me. A waiter, balancing a giant tray on his head, stepped between us. Then the waiter gets distracted. As I looked up, I saw the tray starting to tilt towards me and I thought, “Well, he's not going to fall. He's a professional waiter. No! Here he comes!” The waiter's tray fell, hit me in the chest, bounced and crashed to the floor. Plates, cups and half-eaten garlic shrimp fell. Oh.

I stayed there. Mortified. Everyone in the restaurant looked. The waiters were quick to ask me if I was okay. I was stunned. I thought: “How did this happen? And why now and on my big date? And who doesn't finish eating their garlic shrimp? There are only four or five. It's delicious and it costs 25 dollars.”

I mentally communicated with myself. I was a middle-aged lady on a date. That's what we do. I thought, “Do you need a timeout or reschedule? You've just been attacked by snacks.” I felt a little dazed, but nothing had affected me. I decided to stay and headed to the table where Brian was sitting.

He looked at me across the table very sweetly, with kind eye contact, before asking, “Are you okay?” Just like the dating profile, I wanted to be honest. I said, “Yeah, that was really embarrassing and a weird shot of adrenaline. But yeah, I'm fine.”

After a moment, he looked at me across the table. And very sweetly and with kind eye contact, he asked, “Can I laugh now?”

Frankly, in all my years of dating, I never knew exactly what I had been looking for, but I knew at that moment that I had found it. My Ready Prince. A year later, he proposed to me over dinner on a family vacation. And we've been together ever since.

The author is a comedian, television scriptwriter, narration teacher and winner of the first Los Angeles Affairs Live storytelling contest, where she performed a version of this story on stage. She, Brian, and their chihuahua named Mouse live on Lake Balboa. She is on Instagram: @imlaurahouse.

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