No longer able to be reminded daily of hot guy’s snubbing of me, I have defected and become a fully-fledged paid-up member of the mother of all dating websites
I have gone for it! Now I guess all I need to do is wait for love to happen…(love guaranteed is far too expensive).
Photos uploaded, profile completed, fingers crossed and I am ready to date (near as dammit).
There are literally thousands of men looking for the looooove of a good woman! She is I. I have arrived. I. Am. Here! (At least I think I am.) Bring it on! Bring on the testosterone tsunami! (OK, maybe not a six-foot hormone wave, as that would be scary). Come to mama?
Settled into my comfiest pyjamas I poured myself a nice cup of tea and started the hunt…and found myself seriously daunted when faced with pages of faces that fit the age range I decided to search for. But don’t get me started on that again!
OK. I can’t stop myself: why can’t I search by height (midgets need not apply) or by build (athletic and toned. please)? Yes, it sounds superficial, but when you only have photos and a few words to go on you become superficial. Someone can be into all the things you enjoy and be potentially funny enough to split your sides daily, yet if he doesn’t provide a feast, or at least a nice picnic lunch, for your eyes then there is no point. Let’s face it – this is about finding a mate that you mate with not a mate that you drink with.
So, I settled into sifting through the 40-year-olds (I had to start somewhere). I wondered what they sound like, how they walk, how they smell, if they smell…and when you start to consider that the photo they have chosen is the one they think they look the best in…there is no hiding the photo that has been taken by the man himself getting the ‘look’ just right. Have these people no friends to take pictures of them or any holidays they have been on where photos were taken?
It’s also rather scary to look at someone’s profile because as soon as you view it, you know that they know!!! You can hide, but you can’t run. It’s all a little stalker-ish. And somewhat creepy when a little box pops up on your screen (like a mini meerkat in the corner) telling you that Mr_Crazy_Man69 is looking at your profile. The first time it happened, I fluffed up my hair – a girl should always be prepared.
Then there’s the winking. There is so much winking. I have so far been winked at by a wide selection and variety of chaps. One of the more special ones had a profile picture that resembled dodgy CCTV footage that might appear on Crimewatch, another looked like he had been drinking, smoking and bare-knuckle-cage-fighting since childhood. The others simply haven’t triggered the giggle and hair toss reflex.
What is their strategy? Wink and wait? Maybe that impresses some women and they might think, “Oh yeah baby, a man without balls. I am so hot right now.” Am I simply supposed to wink back? Is it the equivalent of birds shaking tail feathers at each other? Does receiving a wink trigger a chemical in a man’s brain to enable him to write an email? Maybe it’s hormones…maybe it’s simply a lack of balls. I don’t care. I prefer a more direct approach.
So, I selected one of the winkers, Blond Date, a nice-looking, fun, smiling fellow in his late thirties, and went for it. Perhaps I have been too harsh, perhaps he has good balls, maybe he just needs a bit of encouragement.
“Are you winking at me?!”