Dear Ones, as you read this particular article, I write with a heavy heart for I have entered dating hell. There are only fourteen men in my current area of 20+ square miles who are on this dating site. I know because every day I am offered seven pairs of gentlemen to choose between with a ‘thumbs up’ or ‘thumbs down’ and every day it’s the same seven pairs that show on my screen.
Having come from the Senior Dating Capitol of the World, Sarasota, the drought here is fierce. How does one go about inventing more senior men?
Fourteen men is nothing to sneeze at, mind you. I’m just used to seeing a larger variety. For instance, if a guy is going to have a ponytail, I actually think that’s sexy as all get out, but if he’s got a greasy, straggly mess of a ponytail, all bets are off. It is also fairly obvious that of the ones I’ve seen the only two who conquered the ability to smile have been snapped up like the last piece of fried chicken. It is equally obvious they did not pass the smile secret along to the others on the site.
Alas, as with the other Christian Mingle and Zoosk, should I venture to email one of them in hopes one might be merely hiding a brilliant grin underneath the furrowed brow and fierce frown, no one feels compelled to return my note with an answer. What is it with men? Are women on these sites just as rude?
Be funny, the site advises. I try, heavens, how I try with no results. Be sexy, says the site. For crying out loud, I’m currently remodeling one home while moving into another, running folks to doctors and hospitals, begging septic tank folk to come out and, for some reason, darn it, I don’t feel sexy. Septic tanks and sexy – nope can’t see even a tiny connection there.
Be cheerful, notes the site. I’m so blasted cheerful I sound like the first robin of spring and still nada, nothing, not one tiny word. Tell him something about yourself that jives with his interests, advises the site. “I’m breathing” I write. By golly, I got a response. Some guy wrote, “Pant, pant, pant, wheeze, heavy breathing, etc.” Ha ha, funny, you moron, I said in my most sexy, cheerful, funny email voice. Would you believe he disappeared?
Perhaps I should wait until the one house is totally remodeled, the appliances, furniture, and a change of clothing finally arrives and I have a moment to take a sexy soak in the tub, read up on being funny, and learn to tell a cheerful joke. Maybe, just maybe those few things will make my emails more palatable to one of those fourteen men in my area. What do you think?