Wait—There’s a Man Behind the Curtain?

Ok. So, I panicked and decided to spill the beans—yes, Gentle Reader, there IS a man behind the curtain. Kind of, I guess. Anyway.

Last April, I had had enough of my broken heart. I had had enough of being alone. I had Love once—and I wanted it again.

Shane and I had been together for over 30 years—we had known each other since we were 15, raised three sons together, traversed all the curves that life can throw at you, drove each other just the right amount of crazy, and loved each other deeply. Then he was gone and I was left to carry on. Alone.

I believe we are built for relationship—with our Creator and with each other. I am a full, entire person in my own right—but I am even better as a partner. After four years --five now, in 2020-- of moving through all the cycles and circles of grief, I felt ready to move on.

It seemed like a good idea at the time...

I started thinking that for my birthday in June I’d throw myself a “Girl’s Night In” Birthday Party. I’d invite my incredible women friends; we’d drink margaritas and write up an on-line dating profile that would be irresistible. I was really looking forward to it. I bought super cute party invitations, I planned the hors d’oeuvres—because Cheetos are, too, hors d’oeuvres, stop judging me.

But June is a long time away from January. February was hard. March was 31 lonely days long. April arrived and something inside just snapped. Suddenly, April Fools seemed like an auspicious day to dive into on-line dating, right? So, I did. Just me and my good friend ‘Rita. We sat down with a credit card—mine, not hers-- and started signing up at multiple sites. And by multiple I mean two—Match.com and eHarmony. Even ‘Rita isn’t that crazy. In a burst of brazen honesty—and the realization that no matter how vast the Internet seems the world is small—I told my kids. I figured it was better they heard it from me first. Pretty sure my kids hoped I was pranking them. Sorry kids, ‘Rita knows best!

The next day, I called a couple of friends to confess what I had done and to get some input on improving my “profile.” They provided some polish, a few safety tips, told me to just relax and have fun. And you know—they were right.

I had fun. I chatted with some nice people - and a few dodgy ones. I poked a couple of holes in some scammers—seriously, has anybody else met a person with a PhD who wasn’t thrilled if you asked them what they wrote their thesis on? It seemed highly unlikely he had a doctorate—what with his inability to use the proper “there, they’re, their.” Anyway, I have some great stories to tell.

For example, the guy that had a riddle as part of his profile and invited women to answer it. The riddle went something like this: “In my deserted mountain cabin are 150 dead souls—how did it happen?” Or maybe it was how did they get there? Anyway, it was something like that and I typed back a long and funny –because I’m very funny—reply about the dangers of skiing while playing a game of “stack the phonebooth.”

 “No,” he said. “Try again.”

 Just those three words, not even a “lol.” And I’m very funny!

So, I write a second, long response about how the first was my story and I was sticking to it, that they’d never be able to prove anything, that I had at least three alibis, etc., etc.

“No. Guess again.” No smiley face, nothing.

Hmm. This time I just typed back “Are the dead bodies flies?”

“No,” came the reply. “Again.”

No. Nope. No thank you. I gave you PARAGRAPHS of effort and all you give me as a reward is three or four SYLLABLES? And those were syllables telling me WHAT TO DO? Dude, you didn’t even “LOL.” Not a relationship I’m interested in having, thank you very much, Mr. Loquacious. That was actually his profile name, “Loquacious.” I hope he meant it ironically. Also, it only now occurs to me that perhaps the 150 dead bodies thing wasn’t a riddle as much as a confession. Either way, dodged a bullet there.

I really would like to know the answer to that one though...do you suppose it was 75 pairs of worn out shoes?