Blame It On the Bossa Nova

February 13, 2023 Dara Bunjon

The author writes that watching a televised performance by Latin singer Ricky Martin in the 1990s made a huge impact on her life and perspective. (Shuttertock / Debby Wong)

It’s all Ricky Martin’s fault. Yes, the handsome Latin pop king who sang “Livin’ La Vida Loca.”

When Martin performed on the Grammy Awards broadcast in 1999, I’d been married for 18 years and an AARP member for two years. That night, I sat on my bed watching Martin sing, dance and gyrate. I thought about how hot he was, and I came to the realization that that uncontrollable feeling of lust that comes with a new relationship was gone in my life.

I started to sob.

My husband and I had a solid sexual relationship, but nothing was putting that passion, that urgent need or feeling, back into our relationship.

At that moment, I sat shiva for my passion. There are experts who can tell you how to put passion back into your marriage, but it wouldn’t be that same first rush.

I’ve told this story to a handful of friends over the years, most recently at a women’s writing club. What I’ve learned is even if you mourn what can’t be anymore, you must move forward and embrace what today has to offer you.

In 2016 my husband suffered a brain hemorrhage, and I removed him from life support that summer. Life moved on, and I remained very active in my hospitality- themed public relations and marketing company. Business had me out and about, but I was missing companionship.

After a year or so passed, I contemplated treading the tempestuous waters of dating. I was 70 when I threw it out on Facebook that I was considering dating. There were a lot of “Go get ’em, girl!” responses, and even a date with an acquaintance’s uncle.

My first date in 35 years was lunch at a neighborhood restaurant. The man talked about his late wife, his previous dating experiences and his work — pleasant enough, so I agreed to a second date.

The second date was Chinese food, and we were done in 35 minutes. We adjourned to my home to continue our conversation. I was comfortably seated in a big lounge chair, and he was on the couch. But then he patted the couch, indicating I should sit next to him.

I went into full panic mode. I sat next to him, straighter and more rigid than an Australian Ridgeback. He picked up on my anxiety, and the evening ended at the door with him saying, “I didn’t realize how fragile you still are.”

Meanwhile, I’d had a salacious dream about an acquaintance. I met him when he came to my home during a celebration of my husband’s life. I remember thinking he was cute — not apropos considering the circumstances, but an instinctive response.

Life moved on and I kept busy with work, travel and friends. But one May evening, I put out to the Facebook universe something to the effect of, “I’m going crazy, who wants to adopt me?” And lo and behold, my salacious dreamboat responded, “Hi Dara … I just saw ur SOS … I would adopt you for however long you’d like … if you don’t get any more attractive/better offers … would even take you out tonite too. This is a little Dar(a)ing for me!”

I was over-the-moon excited and surprisingly not nervous about calling him. The teenager in me dialed his 10-digit phone number without hesitation; the anticipation of a date with him that evening pulsed through me like riding on a roller coaster.

I don’t remember much about the conversation except him asking, “Do you want to go to dinner, movie or dancing?” I responded, “You should be careful who you ask to go out dancing. I might dance like Elaine on ‘Seinfeld.’” He laughed.

We decided on dinner, and I had about an hour to become Cinderella. When he entered my house, I gave him a kiss on the cheek and he looked a bit taken aback by my little show of affection. We dined at a very retro restaurant.

He loved to talk, and the conversation continued later at my house. Eventually, one of us gave up the ghost. I walked him to the door, gave him a hug and little kiss. I expressed having a good time and told him to contact me if he wanted to get together again. I think I was pretty clear I was interested.

But things weren’t easy. He was obsessed with a book he was writing, and having a second date became tough to schedule. During a chance encounter at a local supermarket, I joked with him, “I planted a tracking device on you.” He laughed, but over the next month there was no date in sight.

An opportunity presented itself. A client restaurant of mine was doing a two-night dry run before opening. A number of my friends were already invited, and there was room for one more. I thought a table of four might be a good way to engage him, especially if he was feeling shy. He graciously accepted.

Conversation flowed that night and a pleasant evening was enjoyed by all. As Sheldon Cooper from “The Big Bang Theory” would say, “Bazinga!”

When I pulled up to his apartment to drop him off, he invited me in. He warned me that his place looked like a museum. Eventually, we sat side by side reviewing the books he’d written, and every once in a while I took off my glasses to flash my baby blues at him.

But nada! Stymied by his lack of action, I started to leave. But at his door, he gave me a little kiss on the cheek and said, “Let me walk you to the car.” He was chatting away when I suddenly asked, “Do I get another goodnight kiss?” It was like a scene from a rom-com.

I was almost at my car door when he stopped dead in his tracks and questioned me, “Did you just ask me for another goodnight kiss?” I froze, turned toward him with a smile and said, “Yes.”

He laid one on me and it was the perfect kiss. It was a deep, visceral kiss that made my toes curl, raised my heartbeat and was the perfect spark to ignite that passion I sat shiva for back in 1999.

Dara Bunjon is the host of Jmore’s weekly “Food Enthusiast” broadcast on Facebook Live.