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I finally escaped the confines of a small town in southern Ohio where we were the only Jewish family. The big step was my freshman year in college. No, I didn't go far away, just to a state university that is now known as a "public ivy." The great attraction was simply to be away from the same kids I'd started kindergarten with, shared my teenage angst with and finally graduated with.

College: a chance to meet new people, especially kids whom I did not know. Of course, there were a few homesick moments, but I soon settled into a coterie of primarily Jewish friends. Small world: Many of their parents had attended the same synagogue and public schools as my father. They all grew up together in the same Jewish neighborhood of Cincinnati. A quirk of fate took my father to rural hills of Appalachia, and the same took me back to this circle.

I started having a real social life, and juggled steadily dating two nice Jewish boys, either of which my parents would have rejected as not being good enough for me. No, marriage wasn't on my mind; just having fun. Rick charmed me as an unknown quantity: a suave, sophisticated, dark, sexy guy from Chicago who later flunked out. Mike was the typical Midwestern guy I'd grown up with: a little pudgy, kinda lazy, more of a schlepper than a mensch. The local yokel whose father had gone to school with my father. He later flunked out as well.

We all lived in the same quad and ate in the same dining hall. The two guys lived in the same dormitory. They also lived on the same floor, in the same wing. But luckily, due to the gerrymandering that divides freshmen, they were assigned to different corridor groups. Whew. Maybe I could keep these two from knowing about each other.

Then our quad sponsored a fund-raiser: a Peter, Paul and Mary concert in Music Hall, Cincinnati. Rick wooed me three weeks early with the promise of third row center seats. Three days before the concert, Mike proudly offered 30th row balcony seats. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm busy that night," I said. "What a shame. Thank you for asking."

The big night arrives, the concert is sold out and charter buses drive us the 40-some miles to Cincinnati. We file into Music Hall, beautifully restored and glittering, with a seating capacity of some 3,600. Excitement is in the air; we freshmen are feeling grown-up and worldly. Rick escorts me to our excellent seats. What a glorious evening to remember, with a sweet sexy guy I think I'm in love with, are my thoughts as I enter the row.

Soon any thought of romance turns to crimson embarrassment as sitting on the other side of those two empty seats is none other than Mike. He sold the two balcony seats for one, third row center. What an uncomfortable evening to remember.