It's only been a few weeks but I've already been "quivered" and flirted with by men: a) looking for a mother or grandmother figure. Singlebiker is 29 but "prefers older women". Honey, I could have been changing your diapers; b) Mysteryman is 49 and thinks I'm hot. I know I shouldn't squelch the whole Ashton-Demi vibe, but this guy was in his diapers when I was going to my senior prom; c) Men with fish. What is it about older men and their online profile pics? Dear God, I have never viewed so many men in plaid shorts standing next to their dead tuna. Is this all about size? Really; d) Short men in black muscle shirts posing in front of their refrigerator. Do you think I'm stupid, bud? You're claiming to be 6 feet tall and yet you don't even come up to your freezer door. And I bet you just may have a year's supply of frozen tuna stashed in that freezer; e) You're gonna love this one: 88-year-old men who write IN ALL CAPS THAT THEY DON'T WANT A LONG-TERM RELATIONSHIP. Hell, at 88, it's pretty much evident. But they do want sex, plenty of sex. I think I should invest in the pharmaceutical company that makes Viagra. I'll be a rich woman in no time.
Amidst all these "catches" (sorry, I'm back to fish), I have managed to identify a few possibilities and started corresponding with men my age. Now it gets even more challenging. One guy seemed so compatible until I found his online questionnaire which revealed that he was in a former "slave/master relationship" and entertains rape fantasies. Babci and bondage? I think I'll pass and save the hot sex for my fanfic.
Yes, I am selective and do choose guys who: a) DON'T USE CAPS; b) know how to spell; c) know the difference between a comma and a semi-colon (am I being too selective?); d) Smile in their profile pics, seem to have good teeth (or dentures), and don't look like undertakers. It's not that I'm prejudiced against funeral directors but, recently, I've been having some heart palpitations. Low-grade fever. Breathlessness. All this without sex. I swear. Now my daughter wants me to make out a will and give her all my online passwords. Dammit, given the circumstances, I'd be crazy to start a serious relationship with someone who'd remind me of the Grim Reaper.
Mr. Right? Mr. Big? Mr. Halibut? Maybe he's out there in cyberspace just waiting for me to "flirt" him with a smiley emoticon. My ideal online match? A retired cardiologist with a great bedside manner.
I go for my two-day cardiac-stress test next week.
