It’s time to fess up. It’s tidier than fessing down. Although cunningly disguised as a friend of a friend of a person quite likely to be a friend, I met him on the internet.
I know.
But everyone’s doing it. All the friends of friends of people one is quite likely to know. It has real advantages over real life. Things like:
We all know why we’re here.
It’s possible to talk to his/her photograph without ever having had the painful experience of having a photograph given to you as a token of love and then just being left with the token when the photographee has wandered off.
We can pretend to be better/wittier/saner/realer/less menopausal people without the real better/wittier/saner/realer people actually finding out that you’re sitting there having a hot flush.
There is no one to ask if you are really better/wittier/saner/realer. (Soulmates haven’t cottoned on to the whole reference thing which is the usual requirement of the matchmaker) (aside from being in those cute slidy boxes)
It’s nothing to do with one’s mother’s conception of who a nice boy/girl would be.
It’s possible to judge people on purely spurious basises like –
the quality of their punctuation,
whether they’re capable of making it through an entire form-filling process,
and how they look in a photograph obviously taken in a moment of desperation as they came to the bit in the form when asked to upload a photo (hence the lion-king pyjamas).
Their fondness for orange vegetables.
There is a great deal of interest in the subject of Guardian Soulmates. I have just designated myself in the role of spurious Soulmate expert. Experts, after all, are only people who know stuff that is basically unknowable. Questions like why? How? What? And most of all with whom? All of these, and probably many more questions, I might address in forthcoming posts. Next exciting episode, coming to a screen near you – First Contact – what really happened, what might have happened, and carrot soup.
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Cecilia, I have been doing online dating on and off for years. I have met some lovely men, I really have but if you want stories to make you wee yourself, I have them too!
My conclusion, if any, is that, although there are some women around with unrealistic expectations/cabin trunksful of unresolved baggage/behavioural problems etc, on the whole the intelligent, sorted, articulate, attractive, decent women outnumber the men. And yes, although we are likely to describe ourselves as "curvacious" rather than a few pounds overweight (guilty as charged) I have also met an ENORMOUS bloke (Dave?) whose photo was very cleverly flattering! And many men who are fairly unrealistic about themselves.
I want to say what I sometimes say in my "thanks but no thanks" messages : It's just an elaborate numbers game and we just have to keep going. But the longer time goes on, the more I'm thinking that the strange old spinsters have to come from somewhere! I have a really great life and a select rainbow of fantastic friends who all think I'm a good woman going to waste (yes, I have used that as a tagline already!) but the effort which goes into keeping an open mind (and heart) does get exhausting when every little knock does hurt, albeit only a little. Shall I renew or not? Angela
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