The Dating Game
     Okay - it's been a little over two years now, and although the LAST thing I want is another husband, I'd sure love to meet someone to at least go to the movies with. He doesn't have to be an Adonis - just someone reasonably intelligent with a sense of humour, who understands words of more than one syllable. So I take a deep breath and sign up for a journey into the vast mysterious world of on-line dating. On the advice of a friend, I sign up on one of those over-50 sites, which promises "perfect" matches and love and romance beyond my wildest dreams. Well, hey, who wouldn't want that?
     So I fill out the "dating history" form - (what "dating"? I was married for the better part of 50 years, and whatever dating I did prior to that is pretty dim in my memory - except that in those days we had "rules," about what "nice" girls did and didn't do.) And I go through all the choices about who/what I'm looking for, age ranges, and geographical distances. And what are my interests? And do I like children? What do I read, what movies do I like? Do I like dogs? Blah-dee-dah-dee-dah. I specifically state that I am NOT looking for marriage, and I have an aversion to men in muscle shirts who ride motorcycles. I am painfully honest about my age, # of children, # of grandchildren, and indicate that I'm looking for someone who is well-read and has some vitality.
     Well, Holy Moley! There was no way I could have known what I was getting into. Each day, when I opened my e-mail, there would be 5 "matches" awaiting my perusal. Now don't get me wrong - I LOVE men. But I've found myself wondering if these guys have ANY idea of what appeals to  women.  Some of the pictures defy description. Others show some guy squinting into the sun with a decidedly angry look on his face. Some look like those "Wal-Martian" horrors we all share on the internet. Some guys have teeth, some have so much facial hair you'd be hard-pressed to define any facial features. Some are these old codgers proudly holding up a freshly-caught fish. (Yeah - now THAT'S really appealing.) Some are dressed like pimps we see in the movies. And my favourites are the guys in "do-rags" and muscle shirts proudly standing astride or in front of their gleaming Harleys. Some wear gold chains and earrings - others look like Hell's Angels. Or axe-murderers. One guy's photograph just showed his bald head, his eyebrows, and the tops of his glasses.
    As time went on, I found a very few that piqued my interest, and availed myself of the "Send A Message" service. Most didn't respond, and those who did seemed to have a major literacy problem. What I ultimately realized was the seemingly illiterate ones were immigrants - and English was their second language. That didn't bother me so much - I understand how tough the English language can be for those who didn't grow up speaking it. What did bother me was what I've come to believe is a cultural difference. These guys immediately launch into barely-understandable poetic word images of love and passion, expressing their desires to show ME how beautiful I am! And how I am a "treasure" to be cherished and loved and "caressed." Huh? What?!! Wait just a minute here! Who said anything about "caressing?" The only thing I know about you, pal, is that you're 68, and you live in Dundalk! You want "caressing," you'd better choose another stranger. Good grief!
     I switched dating sites. The pickings were moderately better, although one of the latest candidates lives so far down south, he'd have to have a Lear jet to meet me for coffee. He's also an absolute "hunk," whose photos look professionally produced - and he's looking for someone to help him raise his motherless teenagers. The red warning flags are waving in my brain. Do I look like a football player from Notre Dame?
     All hope rests on a man who seems to be a "regular guy." No fish, no motorcycles, no earrings - and not one word about "physical chemistry," passion or "caressing." English is his native language. He's in the right age range, geographically feasible, intelligent-looking, and interesting. We're going to meet at a half-way point for lunch this weekend in a very public restaurant, and we'll see what comes of it.
     The inner me wonders how I came to slide down this rabbit-hole - and it's hard not to feel sorry for myself. What am I doing here? How many Tweedle-Dums and Tweedle-Dees will it take to find a movie companion for this aging grandmother who'd just like to have some fun? I have plenty of "chemistry" in my daily pill regimen - and my dogs love to be caressed. I'm passionate about my grandchildren and good music. It'd just be nice to have someone to share it all with.