In truth, I am in no mood to date. I have more pressing issues than worrying about whether some guy notices the dark rings under my eyes and exchanging meaningless replies to “How was ur day?” Sometimes I’d just rather sit back and follow the drivel about JLo’s dating troubles and triumphs. And there is “The Bachelorette”, too. I can find solace in knowing that hunky young men with ripped abs also get tearful while wondering if they will ever find love. Vicarious rejection is safe non-sex.
Still, every so often some poor sap sends me a new message online. Yes, with my mindset, I should retire the profile. But Prince Charming is still out there, isn’t he? I must keep hope alive. Even if it is on a resuscitator, taking up space in ICU.
Usually, it is easy to give the message a pass. Thanks but no thanks. Best wishes.
But sometimes a guy with a cute photo and a profile that lists a few interests beyond Going to the Gym and Napping sends out a quick hello. He even refrains from any mention of hunting. Suddenly, a quick goodbye seems questionable. I message back. Things progress rapidly. In a week, by golly, we are meeting for coffee.
That’s the way it is supposed to go. I go through the motions. I play along.
Even when, deep down, I am sick of it.
It is not fair to the other guy. But I liken it to exercise. There are many times I’d love to skip the bicep curls, the monotonous minutes on the treadmill and lap after lap in the local pool where unknown objects float into view. But exercise is supposed to be good for you. One of these days, I just might see the difference. And if I stop, will I ever start again?
If I step away from dating, I just might get a cat. Then another. Then a few dozen.
And I don’t even like cats.
So, really, I have no choice but to keep going, to keep trying, even through the darkest, driest
moments months millennia.
This is why I went for coffee today with Dharmesh. Decent photos—smiling even! Maybe an interest or two to chat about. He said he’d traveled the world. (Hey! I just went to Boise!) And he claimed he worked for fun; finances were not an issue. (Too soon to stop playing the lottery, but I passed by two vending machines this week without checking for quarters.)
In person, he was more handsome than his photos. Hairier, too. To be honest, it was a little distracting. But he was clearly happy to see me. It is nice to show up and not feel immediate disappointment from a coffee mate. Still, I never felt invested in the conversation. Dharmesh is a realtor and he worked too aggressively in selling himself. He kept referring to his “global” perspective and his astonishing success. After the first five minutes, he neglected to ask anything of my interests and experiences. I didn’t push it. I sat, sipped my coffee and nodded a lot.
Yep. Going through the motions. But I couldn’t help thinking I’d rather be doing the breaststroke in a pool with submerged hairballs and Band-Aids.
God, that sounds awful. I should delete that statement, but it is spot-on.
At least I didn’t lead him on. I was a dead fish. Just not as smelly.
And then, hours later, a new message appeared in my inbox. That was great fun. Let’s have dinner at my place sometime if you like?
Good thing he added the question mark. Poor Dharmesh.
Thanks but no thanks. Best wishes. The motion sickness only feels worse.