One day I would like to meet Seymour. I haven’t been able to locate him but I have tried.

He was 6″ 3″ tall, had a full head of hair, took his date to very expensive restaurants and held her chair when she sat down. He was extremely successful in business. He jumped out of the car when they stopped and ran around, even in the rain, to open the door for her. He held doors for her and offered his hand when she climbed or descended stairs.

He never “pawed” her, danced like a professional and never drank more than a sip of a cocktail at a party. He never looked at another woman, even to just look.

Seymour had an elegant vocabulary. Dogs and children loved him. Old ladies blushed when he paid attention to them — he had magnetic sex appeal. He was a high-ranking officer in the War but very modest about his heroism, not like “some people” who think three years of combat on seven islands in the Pacific was a big deal.

Seymour had impeccable taste in clothing. He never needed a shave or haircut, like “some people”. Even after a winning game of tennis, or ping-pong, or soccer, or baseball, or volleyball, he never sweated or needed a shower. He was an accomplished equestrian, surfboarder, skier and skater.

Seymour brought flowers and presents on every occasion.

Seymour was the guy my wife was dating when she met me and I swept her off her feet.