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By Ariadne Date: 2008 Dec 05 Comment on this Work [[2008.12.05.15.20.21702]] |
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This is a story of a person who scoffed at internet dating – ‘doesn’t that just about scream desperate? What about the psycho’s out there – don’t you think they see the desperate souls on eHarmony or Match.com as easy targets? Oh Pa-lease – I’d rather be alone. Really..!’ Friends had found someone to be with on the internet, but still I refused to consider it. Then, one day I was talked into signing up on Match.com, my protestations of crazy men falling on deaf ears. I believe a bottle of Chardonnay was the ultimate culprit – anyway, after more years than I care to admit of not being in a relationship – hell, not even dating or thinking of dating, here I was, writing about myself in the simplest of terms – looking for a companion to share new experiences with, I like walking on the beach (only helpful if you were a suitor from one of the coasts and decided to fly me out for a date) etc, etc. No where in the list of drop downs was there one that said ‘afraid to show vulnerability’ or ‘doesn’t know how to act around suitable men any longer’, so I lied. Yes, long hair was a turn-on (another ‘fib’ – it isn’t really – am I subconsciously trying to short circuit my new found bravery?) I was looking for a man between 45 and 55? Not sure, but that sounded about all I thought I could get away with. And I truly don’t know how to act around men any longer – how was THAT going to work for me? If I know they are not available, I can flirt shamelessly, and be very, very good at it. Why? It’s all a matter of expectations, or lack of expectations. I flirt, they feel flattered and go home to their families, and everyone is happy. An eligible man that even might be remotely interested? I stumble over words, say the stupidest of things and generally come across as someone who can’t carry on an intelligent conversation. They lose interest, and I suddenly feel much better – there – THAT (Whatever THAT is) was averted. I digress - back to Match.com. I hit enter, and my profile and a new, fresh out of the camera picture is submitted. My credit card is charged even before the profile and picture are approved. And I’m off – off to see my ‘how many others have viewed your profile’ ticker, feeling a bit surprised as the number grew - off to join the myriad of people who had also joined the internet dating ‘craze’. Then came the winks - the best way to describe this is ‘I may be interested, but only if you are also interested (that’s if you wink back) - but then the wait is on. For someone a bit more confident, you’re definitely encouraged to send emails. But me, I wait. I get some unsolicited emails – from what I can gather, mostly from penitentiary cell-blocks – either that or Kansas has a large percentage of men that are sans wife or girlfriend. I read these emails, and ones from perfectly honorable men from all over the country, and they elicit nothing from me – replying is like answering an email at work. Yes, it’s hot here; no, I’ve not yet seen a rattlesnake; really, you do what for a living? And so it went – although in Match.com timeframes – this was only the beginning – I had tons of time left – 3 months to be exact – on my ‘subscription’ (as if I chose match.com based on an article I saw once, or just having a match.com profile with me on the bus made me more alluring). My family and friends were living vicariously thru me – with my account and password I had opened a Pandora’s Box – isn’t this one cute? I winked at him for you today – I’ve put a few profiles in your favorites, I hope you don’t mind. Don’t mind? I had 10 assistants scouring thru profiles, looking for one that they thought might pass my very high list of requirements. A wink here, and email there, and before you know it, a whole week had passed with nothing more clear than there are a lot of lonely people out there and some had figured out the dance, while others were trying to watch others’ footsteps, and not following too well. Then, after a wink from someone my sister had placed in my favorites - and a mutual ‘right back at-cha’ wink, I waited, and waited, and then….an email surfaced. It was short and to the point – the subject line was ‘OK – I’ll bite’ – the jist of the note was ‘I’ll be your Al (from Tool Time), but don’t expect me to wear flannel’. Silently, in my head, I said…’What took you so long?’…I was hooked. This was the one, this was the email that made my heart skip a beat, ‘this could be the ONE’, it screamed. I held my breath, what does one do when all of a sudden it REALLY matters what is said, the innuendos, the double entendre’s – enough to make my head spin. What if my response left him cold? What if he decided that I wasn’t what he thought I was? I just wanted to be it. I had one opportunity to shine. All of a sudden, Match.com had become a life line, a beacon out there in the cold dark, something to rescue me from THIS – the life I was leading – the alone (but not always lonely) place, where certain movies on TV made me cry – because someone was in love, and that other person really loved them back – or not – but in any case it was something that I didn’t have and realized I still wanted – no matter what I had tricked myself into believing. It was enough to make me hide somewhere with a glass of wine, thinking - who the hell was I, thinking I deserved some fun with a member of the opposite sex? If I was desirable, wouldn’t someone have braved the seemingly cold exterior (only shown to those deemed eligible) to test the waters? Yet, here I was, throwing myself out there, for all to see. See me – I said – see me who hasn’t had a date in forever (really!) and who just turned 49 and believes that every seven years your life changes - for better or worse. But then this could be definitely better – if I could pull it off. So I answered. Not coy, but enough of a sense of humor that would tempt him to continue the correspondence. And he did. Again and again. I gave my phone number – thinking ‘what the hell did you do that for?’, while I hyperventilated. And he CALLED. And we TALKED. It was like we had known each other for a very long time – but were getting reacquainted. ‘Oh My God’ my heart screamed to my head, ‘do not, I repeat, do not screw this up’. And I tried not to. The dance, when you’re dancing and not thinking about it is exhilarating, but if you stop to analyze it – you realize just one misstep, and you could fall, and hurt yourself. I really didn’t want to do that. Not this time – at least not now that I had made the decision to get on the dance floor. More email – “meet? As in a … date? Holy Mother of God – what does one do on a date?” Do I ask my daughter, friends? WHAT DO I DO? We went to the Santa Fe Wine Festival, and it seemed once we got there, and started walking around, that we had known each other for a very long time. Some woman asked me if we were married – I was shocked, but had to laugh, after all, it WAS the first date. Was that a good or bad indicator? We just seemed to fit together very well. I almost didn’t want the ‘date’ to end. By the time I got home, it was late, and we had spent most of the day/evening together. Who would have thought that something like this could have happened to me – I had spent 12 years convincing myself that I was pretty much going to spend the rest of my life alone, would grow old alone, would die alone. I can’t say if the ending will be happy or not, since I’m still not sure – but I can say this – now I know what my heart wants, and it doesn’t want to be alone. It’s looking to be a wonderful 7 years – Go figure! |