Is that a challenge?

You can't demand a sign.  And you sure as hell can't command the gods to provide a sign in a predetermined format.

I set off yesterday challenging the gods to a duel.  I must've still been in that mindset from the previous day.  My plan: stop at any bar I encounter; stay long enough for one drink; and if no man approachs me, head to the next watering hole.  The objective: this would be the sign that Mr. Right is just around the corner.  Sounded like a good plan at the time, plus it was really hot yesterday, and beer sounded good.  I gave the universe three chances.  Three isn't just a random number.  It's my lucky number.  My birthday is March 3rd......3/3......chance, I don't think so.  Maybe that's why I'm rushing this relationship thing because I know after two divorces, this third one has to be IT.  Three was there for me when I was undergoing tests eight years ago.  Every changing room or locker or examination room had the number 3 in it.  Even my Mayo Clinic number contains only derivatives of three.  A coincidence, I don't think so.  Numbers are signs so I demanded my sign be revealed to me by the third bar.

Bar #1: The Barefoot Bar adorns the shores of East Okoboji.  I ordered a Corona at the bar, listened to a duo perform 70's soft rock, and waited.  I got stared at by two older men, both of whom were with other women.  Assholes.  I left.

Bar #2 (well, not really):  I hadn't been in Tweeter's since the fire so it was my next stop.  I ordered a gin and tonic and some onion rings.  The bartender was a former student.  Another former-student-turned-waitress struggled to place my face.  That's rich.  I've had thousands of students, and she struggled to recognize her one communication instructor?  I'm not counting this as a bar because I just ate and drank as fast as I could to avoid these students. When you're hunting man signs, you don't want to be recognized.

Bar #2 (this one counts): The Ritz also sits on the shores of East Okoboji.  Don't let the name fool you.  It's glamor resides in 1980's drab.  I ordered a Corona, sat at the bar, and observed the mating rituals of the young.  The Alpha Male sits looking at his phone, apparently bored with the feeble attempts of the herd to ply him with witty anecdotes.  A girl sitting to his left, hoping to be his Alpha Female, flips her hair and smiles a lot.  Another contender stands behind him, oblivious to the attempts and attentions of another male.  Is this what I'm looking for?  I put up the gauntlet.  I demanded a sign in a bar.  Could the sign be that I'm to old and jaded for this scene?  I had to be sure.  Another student stopped to chat.  I left.

Bar #3: Captain Jack's literally floats on West Okoboji.  This would be the one.  My lucky #3.  No room at the bar so I ordered a gin and tonic and a bottle of water and sat at a table.  Gotta keep hydrated in the triple-digit temps.  That, and I needed to slow down.  I was feeling a little tipsy at the point when you can go either way: happy or pissy.  I was headed down pissy street once the same guy ran into the back of my head twice, and another guy blocked the fan that was keeping the heat at bay.  The fan blocker then sat two tables away and stared.  A man with his back to me at the next table kept turning around toward me.  Apparently the sign is that Midwestern men don't know the first damn thing about how to talk to a woman.  Their idea of flirting involves staring and accidental and annoying touch.  There was no more hiding it.  The "Fuck Off" stamp was a blazing neon sign on my forehead. Disappointment.  The gods had forsaken me.  I left to sulk and sober.

My refuge, my solace, my muse has always been nature.  I have an especially beautiful spot that is hidden to tourists yet provides a panoramic view of West Lake.  Sitting on the rocks, dangling my feet in the cool, albeit slightly mossy, water, I contemplated what had gone wrong.  I had made my desire for a sign very clear.  Had God found me pretentious and demanding?  Were pretentious and demanding people not worthy of signs?  Had I received a sign but not willing to accept it?  Those bars had nothing to offer me.  The signs were there: stop demanding signs and stop looking for signs where they don't exist.  Well, maybe just one more unprententious request: If he's out there, let him find me tucked away in my hiding place.  I relaxed.  God wouldn't slam me twice.  And once I relaxed, I saw it.....the breathing rock.  It was pulsating with the rhythm of the waves.  As each wave rolled over it, the algae atop it lifted and billowed.  That was the sign: the breath of the gods were swelling me.  With renewed hope, I climbed out of my hiding place and belched out all that lovely new air.  And then I saw him, standing on the precipice above me.  God had sent someone to pull me out of my hiding place.  But wait.  Had he heard my burp?  I couldn't take the chance.  He said, "Hi."  I said, "Hello," and just kept walking.