Once upon a time, there was a crusading female journalist working for a major metropolitan newspaper. No, not Lois Lane - me, Carrie Bradshaw. Anyway, this high-aspiring woman went through the trials and tribulations of everyday life, writing columns for which she was paid enough money to indulge her footwear needs. She mostly enjoyed what she wrote, as quite a few people did. She was given free rein to write about whatever topic struck her fancy, whatever issue was being kept between the sheets behind closed doors. Until that day her editor called her.
"You want me to what?" I asked her.
"I want you to write something about New Hampshire."
"New Hampshire? I don't know anything about New Hampshire."
"I figured as much. That's why I've booked you a room for a week. The angle could be...Concord singles - What Do They Want? Or maybe Concord singles - A Forgotten Demographic. Think of it as a holiday."
"You must be joking."
She wasn't joking. Two days later, I found myself in a - how else to describe a New England getaway? - quaint little hotel. It was beautiful, the scenery was wonderful... and I was bored to tears. I asked myself time and again what I was doing in Concord. Personal matters, my friends' sex lives, philosophy of sex...that's what I should be writing about. Here, as the Bard said in "Shakespeare in Love," my quill is broken. Ah well, at least it's not Connecticut, I consoled myself.
Concord was founded in 1725 when some folks from Massachusetts seemingly stumbled over the border and just kept going. The State House - The sight in the capitol - was built in 1819 once Concord, a commercial hub, was named seat of government. (Hey, when you have nothing to do aside from search for a non-existent - or at least endangered - species such as Concord singles, you learn things.) Since then, it appears, nothing has changed in terms of attitude or mores in sex. Concord may be a sexual revolutionary dead-end, I decided.
Nevertheless, I kept trying. The Concord Monitor, proudly calling itself The newspaper of Concord, personal ad The Editor had placed a week ago managed to get a handful of responses. The first two were guys outfitted as though returning from the same wild goose hunt: You know, the very stereotype of New England in their lumberjack shirts and broad moustaches. They'd shoot John Deere if they saw him, I'm sure. And the third guy I didn't even bother with. By the time I arrived at an early 9pm meeting, a good sousing had already set in.
The fourth - and last, as it would turn out - was a guy named Ted. He seemed intelligent, if a bit twitchy, and we talked a bit about sex, Concord, and New York. No, scratch that. I talked. And talked and talked. Most of what he could offer was, "Yeah, New York. I'm going to move there someday." It was then that I excused myself, walked calmly to the bathroom from which I escaped out a window, walked back to the hotel as quickly as my heels allowed, got in the rental car and leaned on the gas pedal all the way back to New York.
My advice to Concord singles? Move. If you must stay, don't give up on sex. Concord has some nice guys, I'm sure. Well, not sure per se, but you might as well laugh as cry. And they all lived sleepily ever after.