In March 2007, I was getting ready work. My Boyfriend, David, who was not getting ready for work, as he was already retired, hollered at me from his warm cozy bed.
"Honey, Eric Estrada, is inviting us to Arkansas for the weekend. Come look at this beautiful place. We haven't been anywhere in a while, and it's free. Let's go! You know, just look around."
Eric Estrada? The Actor?
The first time I met David, was at a country-western bar. We were taking a group dance lesson. You would dance with one guy, and then every few minutes you would shift to the next one. When David
came around for the second time, I was so proud of myself, I'd actually remembered his name! I looked up and said, "Hi. It's Dave, isn't it?" Now, he is a full foot taller than I am, and he
looked down his nose at me and said, "My name is David."
Well, I thought, La dee da.
I certainly remembered him! However, I didn't speak to him for fifteen years. I even went to a party at his house with a friend of mine and didn't speak to him then. He was, "that snotty David." He,
of course, had absolutely no idea who I was.
I wanted to learn how to do the West Coast swing, so I was out in a club one night, where I ran into Richard, a friend of David's. He said if I wanted to learn how to do the West Coast swing,
I should take the lessons from his roommate. When he pointed his roommate out to me, it was David Katz! Well when my feet are cold because hell is freezing over, that's when I'll take a
lesson from David Katz.
But Richard said David was the best teacher for beginners—and I really wanted to learn—so I started taking lessons from David.
One Friday night, I was in a club where David was giving lessons and DJ'ing. He came up and asked if I would like to go dancing up in Ventura on Sunday. I was taken completely by surprise and
stammered, "Yes".
The next day, I called my friend Charlotte and said, "You won't believe it, but I think I have a date with that snotty David on Sunday.
She said, "What do you mean you think you have a date? You sound like a twelve-year-old.
David called later that day and asked if we were still on for dancing.
When I asked if it was an outing for the class, he said, "No, it is not a class trip. Do you still want to go?"
When I said yes, he said he would pick me up.
Ventura was an hour from my house, and his house was on the way, so I told him I would meet him there.
We went to Ventura, danced all afternoon, and had a wonderful time. He was so warm and friendly. I completely changed my mind about him. I had mentioned that the Hungry Hunter was my absolute
favorite restaurant, and on the way home, nothing would do but that we stop there for dinner.
When we got back to David's house, and my car, it was about nine o'clock. David asked me to come in, and when I said no, he gave me the sweetest little kiss and helped me into my car.
I really needed to get home—my dogs needed to be fed.
After that, I saw him at regular dance classes, but our day of dancing was not mentioned. I figured he wasn't interested in dating me.
About three weeks later, he came up behind me at the Friday-night dance and said, "It's too bad I don't play golf."
I asked him why, and he said, "If I did, then maybe I'd have a chance with you."
I answered, "You probably would if you just picked up the phone and gave me a call." I said it ever so sweetly and with a smile.
We fell in love and decided I should move in with him. I had been single for more then thirty years, raising my family and not budging from my home. It was a very big change!
There were some very surprised reactions from family and friends when I sent out "we are moving" notes.
The "we" was me and a seventy-pound Rottweiler named Hoover. You should have seen the look on David's face when I said, "Love me—love my dog." My son Larry and his family were set to
move into my home, and David wanted to know why Larry wasn't going to keep the dog. I informed him, in no uncertain terms, that Larry would love to, but Hoover was my dog.
He said he would have to think about that and headed home. When he arrived there a whole fifteen minutes later, he said he had it all worked out. He would put in a doggy door from the laundry
room to the garage and another one from the garage to the backyard, Hoover was welcome.
There had never been a dog in his house. When an old roommate of his found out about the dog, she said she would give us three months. Things have been going great so far—I hope we can get
an extension. He and Hoover were mad for each other. I told him I was going to have to sue for alienation of affection. Since he is retired, he takes her everywhere. He takes her to the dog
park for walks and even to the bank. When he left to go someplace without her, she sat at the door and cried until I hollered, "Hey, I'm still here." Ungrateful wench. Anyway, he is in love
and wants to make me happy. My mom and the kids like him; I guess we are ahead of the game.
David took me to many places to look for a better place to retire, Los Angeles was out of the question, he advised. My answer was always the same: "No!" It was set in stone. When he asked me
what I wanted, I always answered, "When I look out my windows, I want to see green." He finally realized Palm Springs or Vegas was never going to fly. When asked what he wanted, his answer
was always the same too: a three-car garage (my man had tools) and room big enough for his dance studio. He wanted to continue giving his lessons.