Single people are always attempting different means to meet and date potential significant others. Personal ads had a monopoly in the media until the wonders of the Internet came along; chat rooms, message boards, the technology of shopping for a mate by picture has proved in many a successful match. The produce department in grocery stores became an ever popular cliché within the realms of the media.

Hot woman with low cut blouse and hip huggin' stretch pants leans over a pile of tomatoes or melons, a discriminatory pick and choose sort, until Mr. GQ strolls in and hands her the perfect vegetable. Then they share a Mentos and a smile.

Match made in heaven. The guy knows produce. WOW. Go figure. Bars are cesspool of beer goggled one night stands that eventually end up with a shame spiral and worse, an STD. Single groups, blah. "Just Lunch" reminds me of spinach between the teeth and awkward silence. Let's not forget the original blind date where two 'nice' people are fixed up by their well meaning friends. This isn't promising.

These scenarios snowball into an infinite number of possibilities; love and marriage being the best case, a stalker or Herpes among the worst. The single person has to start from scratch, and the initial portrayal of personality is almost always skewed. True personalities eventually seep out and too often the timely ending arrives with a parting of the ways. Phone calls trickle away into silence and moving on. A slight trivial hangup or even a bad day can end a budding relationship like a late frost. These prospects are not bright.

This weekend I was reminded of an article I recently read that maintained the success of getting together with past loves. Stories like this often appear in happy go lucky periodicals; long lost lovers meet again by chance to fall in love again. Beautiful, heartwarming, except for the perpetually single that read this and get lost in facts that the lovely couple are grandparents. Love is only 35 years and two divorces away.

I jetted to the place of my youth for a wedding this weekend. Now, weddings are notorious for the lovelorn to discover one another. I was excited. My cousin has plenty of single friends who would be joyous, snazzed up, dancing and drinking. These variables make weddings fantastic pools of potential mates.

I arrived Friday night after a dreary drive. My cronies from high school would be out at their usual haunts so I decided to join them for a pint or two to take the edge off and reminisce about old times. I headed to the pub.

My arrival presented a sparse crowd of preppie frat boys and none of my friends were in sight. I was getting ready to call it a night when I saw Alexandria. My heart thudded. I hadn't seen her for seven or so years. Our previous encounters were riddled with pheromones but a friend of mine at the time had the hots for her, but the feelings weren't mutual. Didn't matter. We know the rules. Alexandria and I would sneak off at every chance. Giggle, kiss, giggle. I went to University and she joined the LPGA.

I beelined it over to her table. When our eyes met, the thudding heart resonated to my finger tips and we embraced immediately. She kissed my neck and pushed away grabbing my hand to search for a ring, No ring. Relief. We embraced again and I said that this must be the most wonderful miracle ever. It was. Our eyes were locked, set, her thick, black, shoulder length hair brushing my neck our foreheads pressed against the other, our nose tips rubbing Eskimo style. She pressed her nose into my neck and said I still smelled the same. She did too; flowery, autumn, my youth.

We made about five minutes of small talk before we fell into our inability to keep our hands and eyes off one another. Meanwhile, our friends arrived.

This was recycled love. No background checks, we knew our youths, our true selves before our scarred futures. It may have been for nostalgia, but I am sure that this new recycled love has merits. Failed relationships provide detailed spreadsheets of remorse, hatred, abhorring mannerisms, but the relationships of our past that never had the ability to begin, poses promising potential.

Her golf travel is extensive and I am a hack who can't drive a ball who lives 400 miles from her. She has recently broken off an engagement and is recovering. Other obstacles certainly maintain, but her season ends in October and maybe we can find one another then. Right now, I can still smell her on me and I don't ever want to shower it away.

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