Honestly, how can normal people fall for scams?

I received an email from a woman we’ll call Valerie who wanted to meet me.

Why? Because I run the support group New Directions, which attracts loads of people. I was to meet her at a fancy restaurant downtown. She would donate $100 to our support group and pick up the tab.

I changed my clothes a few times so I would look attractive, finally deciding on a matching pants set with a black and white herringbone pattern. This looks a bit like birds taking off.

Carefully, I studied the map on how to get to downtown Philadelphia, and then drove my car to the SEPTA parking lot and listened for the ping of change as I deposited it.

Aboard the speeding train, I watched out the window.

I love to see the backs of houses with clothes swinging on the line. It is like a tour of Philadelphia neighborhoods, many poor, but wealthier as we neared Center City, as we call downtown in these parts.

Rarely did I get out of my “comfort zone,” so it was a challenge and I do love a good challenge.

Where was the Deming residence? My son and his family lived there. But I was too busy talking to myself, so I missed it.

Oh, well.

Keswick Avenue came around. Often, I would attend concerts there, either alone or with Scott.

Bela Fleck with Taj Mahal. “I must take naps every day,” said Taj, whose real name is Henry St. Claire, Jr.

I would always doze off during concerts.

Now we could drink booze from our seats.

Should I?

Nah. I stopped drinking when I started taking lithium for my bipolar disorder.

“Wayne Junction coming up,” announced the conductor.

Almost there.

Jefferson Station would be next.

I straightened my outfit.

One of the conductors took my arm and helped me off the train.

I checked to make sure I was headed in the right direction and swung through the gate.

Only one way to go.

My heels clicked on the sidewalk as I watched for the restaurant.

“I have black hair and brown eyes,” she had told me.

And there she was, Valerie, sitting outside “Portabella House.”

She was picking at a salad and stood up and shook my hand.

“Any trouble getting here?” she asked, kindly.

“None,” I said, smiling.

She thrust a menu in front of me, a large, colorful one, that offered venison.

“Venison?” I inquired. “Ever had it?”

“Never. Not that I’m a vegetarian, but the idea disgusts me. Those cute animals… ”

A male waiter with a black suit and white apron smiled at us.

“How’s the venison?” I asked.

“People tell us it’s very good,” he said.

“Well, as they say, this is the first day of the rest of my life, so….”

The dinner was delicious. A picture of key lime pie glistened from a picture in the middle of the table. Something I never ever eat.

I pointed at it and nodded.

“Oh, no.” said Valerie. “I left my credit card at home!”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll pay with mine.

You pay me back when you get home. And don’t forget the $100 for New Directions.”

Scam. Took me a week to realize what had happened. What an awful word. Did I learn anything?

I believe so, but now I was in bed with a big bellyache from that key lime pie.