On the radio a country singer started crooning about being all dressed up with no place to go. I smiled weakly, for I caught a glimpse of myself in the song.
Sometimes it happened that on a Friday evening, from force of habit I dressed up only to realize that there was no one to see and nowhere to go. A subsequent aimless cruise through busy streets, a dinner for one, browsing through the bookshelves at Borders, all helped me pass the time but also sharply accentuated my solitariness. Yes, I might look nice and turn a couple of heads, but what good did it do for me?
A fat lot of good could my other qualities, whatever they might be, do me either. For without that special someone to share my life, I was just a guy all dressed up with nowhere to go.