I've always said I was looking for four things in a husband: someone I could trust, someone I could respect, someone I could enjoy spending time with - which implies that we actually spend time together - and clearly, someone I found attractive.
I've managed to find two or three out of the four on occasion, but never all four.
But I did my best in New York. I went out at much as possible (there used to be a great night club at the top of the World Trade Center) to as many different types of events as possible. I was open to a single dance or a single date with anyone. I smiled.
And I did meet people. I met Toby, who wrote me sweet, literary emails late at night -- while his live-in girlfriend was asleep, it later turned out.
I met Hector, who ended our date by saying, "Why don't you let me kiss you to sleep?" (Note to men: this line does not work.)
I met an extraordinary number of unfortunate blind dates. Walking around Manhattan, I could pick out all the places I had been on failed fix-ups.
Someone in Hong Kong had given me a set of Chinese fortune-telling sticks, and I would regularly ask them when I would meet my Prince Charming. I ultimately got so frustrated I threw them out the window.