Chapter 11: Dr. Danny and the Extended Language (or: L"T and Voala)

One day I said to myself: Yael, it's time to move up a league. No more Tinder, the meat market of the masses. I signed up for **"Alpha"**. The site for academics. The crème de la crème. The General Staff Patrol of dating. The place where men know how to use punctuation marks and don't send pictures of their glasses before "Good morning."

Then Danny arrived.

On paper? A wet dream of every second chapter. A family doctor (retired, but a doctor is a doctor forever). A relatively recent widower. Lives in north Tel Aviv, a spitting distance from me. On the phone call he was funny, pleasant, intelligent. A fluent conversation. My heart, which was already scarred and rough like the feet of a hawk, dared to flutter.

Act One: Hair Dye and the Kambatzit Dikla

The date is set for tonight. I'm stressed. My hair looks like a failed chemistry final project. Dikla, my operations officer, went on standby. I immediately called and asked her: What about us? Are we meeting? I need to do some coloring myself because I don't feel like going out on a date like this and there are no hairdressers today. Dikla calmed me down: Yaeli, no pressure...

No pressure? You made me laugh. I pulled out leftover Colston with 9% oxygen from the closet (yes, 9%, because I like to live on the edge and burn my scalp), put plastic bags over my ears so my glasses wouldn't get dirty, and I looked like an alien trying to integrate into human society.

At the same time, I activated my private Shin Bet. The result: Danny G. is a doctor. Everything is strictly kosher. I even found a picture of him lecturing somewhere. He's real. He's a doctor. Hallelujah.

Act Two: Milano Square, Intimacy and Walking the Boulevard

He wanted to meet at "Amiram", an old institution for the elderly like us. I vetoed it. I wanted something less "nursing home" and more "Sex and the City". We settled on Milano Square. He arrived. Not tall, thin, solid, cold, sturdy. He looked great for his age. The conversation? Flowed like wine. He was charming. He talked about his late wife with eyes sparkling with longing. It melted me. A man who loved a woman like that for 30 years? Does he have a heart. After the drink, we walked along the boulevard. He walked me home. Went up for coffee. There was something there. Tension, interest, intimacy. He told me:

Act Three: L'LT, Silence, and Groups in the Balint

The next morning. Quiet. No "good morning." No "I had fun." I start watching movies with Dikla.

Then, at night, the romantic message of the century arrived:

The next morning he called. An hour and a half conversation! He told me about "Balint groups." For those who don't know (like me until that moment), these are support groups for doctors to learn how to deal emotionally with patients. Irony committed suicide by jumping off a roof. The man who needs a support group to not hate his patients, turns out to be emotionally inert in front of the woman he's (allegedly) trying to woo. He told me he was "called" to his granddaughter because "all the dolls are sick." I told him:

Act Four: The Rabbit Comes Out of the Bag

And then... silence. The Doctor disappeared. He, who had declared himself "straight as a ruler," simply evaporated. After a day of thunderous silence, I understood. He's not "busy." He's not "deliberating." He's just a rabbit. He's one of those people who enjoy the ego stroke, the initial excitement, and then when they really need to communicate – they run away to their den.

I decided that I would not remain silent. Not this time. I am Yael, and I will not let doctors (even if they are in the Alpha) treat me like a patient in a health insurance company waiting for an appointment.

I sent him a message. Not a whining message. An educational message.

I waited for a response. Maybe an apology? Maybe an explanation?

The Finale: "The Extension Language"

His answer came, and it was so disconnected from reality that I had to read it twice to believe it.

Danny Alpha Doctor:

Excuse me?! A slang term? The man who writes "L"T" and "Walla" and tells me in his early morning phone call that he cursed all sorts of things all morning, dares to lecture me about a term? Self-absorbed? For an hour and a half on the phone, he talked

I answered him like a queen:

Medical summary

My diagnosis for Dr. Danny: Suffering from chronic ego swelling, acute lack of self-awareness, and "fresh meat in the app" syndrome. He thought he was reaching alpha and becoming the king of the swamp, but forgot that doctors also need to have basic human etiquette.

So what did we learn?

1. A doctorate does not protect against emotional numbness.

2. A man who writes "LLT" is sentenced to (virtual) death.

3. When a man accuses you of being "self-absorbed" after he's been digging himself up for two hours – run away. That's a narcissist with a stethoscope.

Next.

Chapter 11: Dr. Danny and the Extended Language