Got it, Bucko? I. Don’t. Want. To. Be. Your. Everything.
Or should I say, everything you want me to be.
I ranted and raved in this very blog about how I was not an online dater. Still am not much of one. Key word: much. Yes, I’ve remained on the sites. Sheepish about it but I’m realizing that if you have a career as a single mother and you’re raising two boys—and you would like occasionally to have a clean house, weed-free yard and maybe even read a few pages of a good book now and then—you need to meet people somewhere. The disco in my living room just isn’t cutting it. And unless I want to marry the gas meter man (I don’t), I need to be out in the world of grownups in a place that does not involve sitting at a bar and reliving my twenties.
I’ve had a few lovely dates. I’ll leave it at that. Nothing to write home about. So why the gritted teeth? The profiles, that’s why.
It’s Facebook on steroids, folks. Either he is years older than his photo or pounds more. Every single man out there seems to water or snow ski every weekend, jet off to the south of France on a monthly basis, dive in the Caymans regularly—and they do all this while training for the Ironman. At least in theory.
All of them want intelligence, thoughtfulness, adventure, fitness, back rubs and a great sense of humor. Sure, honey—and when I’m done getting up at 5 a.m. to run 10 miles with you every day, handling a full day’s work at my “other” job (you know, the one that pays the bills), getting buff at the gym and pretty at the spa, I’ll whip up a fab dinner with the gourmet cooking skills you require and then whisk you off to bed because of course I still have energy to spare. Oh, I guess I should fit my kids in there somewhere, eh?
Do any of these men ever just eat oatmeal at the breakfast table, take the kids to school, work and come home tired? Not that anyone wants that as a steady diet—but please. You can’t have it all. Didn’t your divorce or your 40-some years of unmarried life teach you that?
I love interesting people. I love to be interesting. I love traveling and vacations and gourmet meals cooked for me. I love it all. I want it all. But even Hugh Jackman is not all that at home, ladies and gentlemen.
I hear he’s no handyman and sucks at making coffee. I’m betting he’d be brave enough to put that in a match.com profile.
Just ask his wife. The one he’s been married to for 17 years. The one he proposed to because they were “best mates” or, as we say in the States, best friends.
And the best part? She is not drop-dead gorgeous with six-pack abs. You, match.com supermen, would have passed her up. And Hugh would still have scooped her up.
My teeth are still gritted. I can’t even be everything I want me to be.
So you, dear sir? You will have to wait. Or be more enlightened.
What’s that you say? That’s a tall order?
You’ve got to be kidding me.