Ok folks, I give.
Enough of you have asked for an update on my online dating adventures that I’m ‘fessing up.
In my previous blog on this assignment, I admitted to being the reluctant adventurer. The only thing that has changed since then is I have even more reluctance and a lot less adventure in me. In short, I tank at this online romance thing.
Put in a more eloquent way, I was true to my word. Did not go on one date. Didn’t send one e-mail response. All in all, pretty much confirmed that most of the guys looking online are not my cup of tea.
Then again . . . nah, there is no “then again.” This is just not my gig.
Before all of you who’ve found love online get all huffy on me, I’m thrilled for you. Thousands of wonderful people online, I’m sure. Wait. I retract that. Maybe hundreds. Ok, really—I truly believe only about a dozen, but that’s neither here nor there. I don’t think my true love is online. I think he might be jogging, reading a good book or saving starving children (I get a little carried away sometimes. It sounds like I want the modern day Jesus. I know that. Hey, I’m an optimist.).
I did get quite a few communications, though, over a period of months, even though I did not reciprocate.
But you, dear reader, want specifics. Or so you say in our conversations, online or otherwise.
Ok. Here goes: My gross over-generalizations and advice about online dating as a forty-something. Seeing as I’m so experienced and all.
I’m old in online years. My first thought, as I started to get nudged, favorited, winked at and otherwise contacted, was—where are the men my age? These guys are old. Fifties, sixties, most of them.
And then it hit me. The males my age are having their midlife crisis. They’re winking, nudging and otherwise flirting with the young ‘uns. The twenty and early-thirty somethings. Ah, I see. And that’s ok. I don’t need comb-overs driving tiny red sports cars.
Do not in any way, shape or form refer to a journey, path or travel in your online profile. Most of the men contacting me seemed to want a long-term relationship. And I was just putting a toe in the water. I was confused until one of them mentioned that my profile said something about looking for someone who enjoys the journey. I guess in guy talk that means a looooong journey. I really just meant maybe to the coffee shop and back. At least to start.
European men rock. Not only did forty-something European men contact me, but thirty-somethings also. In chatting with my European friends, I’m told that is because European males appreciate a woman’s life experience a bit more than their international counterparts. I’m not sure if “life experience” is a euphemism for something. And I’m not going to ask. I’m just going to move to Rome as quickly as possible.
People say some crazy s*#t. Case in point: One gentleman was very persistent in his e-mails. After two or three with no response from me, he sent one that said, “You’re a rare beauty. That’s what you are.”
Well, it’s about time someone commented on that. I was just recently thinking how very much like twins Gisele Bündchen and I look.
Seriously. I’m not a rare beauty. I look reasonably attractive on a good day and the only men who have thought me a rare beauty are those that have fallen in love with me for the total package—inside and out. Please.
Another man insisted on calling me “my dear” in all of his correspondence. If you knew me, “dear” is probably not how you’d describe me. And I can’t be claimed as “your” anything. We’ve not even met. You really should be careful of how you talk to such a rare beauty, sir.
A third gentleman was one month away from moving back to the United Kingdom for work (or so he said). But wanted to meet because he’d be willing to move if it worked out. I may sound like a middle-aged rare beauty on a bit of a cranky trip but—who starts a relationship a month before moving overseas? Someone who is either married (says the cynic in me) or desperate. Neither one appeals to me.
Those are the only pearls of wisdom I have to offer, having zippo actual dating experience as a result of my online encounters. I guess I’ll have to rely on good old-fashioned kismet and serendipity to venture into the world of romance again.
Besides, I’ve run out of time. Us lookers require our beauty rest.