A couple of weeks ago I joined an online dating site for the following reasons:
(1) Having been a single parent for more years than I care to think about, my daughter keeps telling me I need to get a life. Actually, she more kind of mutters it under her breath after I’ve asked her to do something around the house, but I choose to think she means it nicely and she does have a point.
(2) I keep hearing stories of how ‘so and so met that way and they’re happily married now’, and;
(3) If the actual dating doesn’t work out, I have had this idea for a book…
So I took a deep breath and completed my profile (honestly – no point in doing it otherwise and you never know, Mr Right may be on there somewhere) and was instantly inundated with messages from blokes who, I can only presume, hang around on there all day and night in the hope of getting lucky. The messages I received varied from ‘hi’, to ‘here’s my number, ring me’, to ‘let’s meet up tonight’, none of which left an opening for an actual, proper, conversation (and no, I’m not giving out my number willy-nilly to anyone or just hopping in the car and popping off to meet a random stranger!)
So today I changed the blurb from all the clichéd stuff that I’d originally put on in the hope of meeting someone normal (which blatantly wasn’t going to happen) to this:
“Hi, is there anyone out there willing to throw their lot in with a skint, post-menopausal mother of two? As a special offer I come complete with one child still at home, hot flushes, a body that’s fast heading south, cellulite, a tendency to snap your head off if you say something stupid (and then cry about it afterwards) and a pathological desire to hold a pillow over your head if you snore loudly enough for me to hear you through the walls (as the night time hot flushes will ensure you’re happily ensconced in the spare room.)
What keeps me happy? Beach walks (until we’ve gone too far and my legs ache, at which point you will be expected to carry me to the nearest pub and ply me with restorative wine), logs on a fire (that you have built and tended and, obviously, are willing to muck out the following morning without making a huge mess of it), meals out (tell me again; what’s an oven for?), solvency (yours – mine’s up a creek without a paddle), and a dog. A Pyrenean Mountain dog please. Or a black Labrador.
Oh, and you may need a sense of humour as life’s too short to sweat the small stuff.”
I wonder if anybody will reply…