The Man Behind Curtain Number Three

I’ve been asked for my opinion on the differences between on-line dating sites; specifically, Match.com and eHarmony. Both sites cost about the same for a six-month membership, both have safety suggestions and tips about how to set up a profile. I learned the hard way that Match.com will—for a price—write a profile for you. After reading hundreds of profiles of “men in your area!” there appeared to be a pattern to some of the exceptional ones. A second reading of those confirmed that who I’d really like to date is the person who ghost writes dating profiles for a living. Sadly, they were not available.

Cat food, lemon curd, tea, duct tape, and bleach. Stop judging me.

eHarmony has the best questions in their repertoire. They ask the best questions to help you fill out your profile and have an impressive list of conversation starters to help you break the ice— “List five items in your shopping cart” or --- well, I don’t really remember any other questions, but they were good ones. So good, in fact, that I would use them over at Match.com, where the questions weren’t as good, but there were more men in my 100-mile range. For the record I said the five items in my cart were “Cat food, lemon curd, tea, duct tape, and bleach. Stop judging me.”

At eHarmony, every time I tried to adjust my range area down to 100 miles, they would give me a yellow warning sign and tell me of all the great matches that I was missing out on in Calgary. As in Canada. I’m convinced eHarmony owns stock in an airline that flies solely to Calgary. I apologize, undiscovered Canadian Soulmate, I’m not in the mood for a relationship that depends on the cooperation of the TSA. Alas!

I’m not going to lie—on-line dating is a lot of work. Done properly, it’s like having a second job. You have to constantly keep reading profiles, starting or responding to conversations, keeping track of which “Bob” is which. For some reason, every third man in my age demographic was called “Bob.” As aliases go, “Bob” is perfectly acceptable, but you’d think the “Bobs” show a little creativity and branch out. Although I suppose going by “Rich” has its drawbacks, now that I think about it.

I dated only in my age demographic—I found it far too depressing to even think about having a romantic relationship with someone who didn’t understand the concept of “phone booths” and “rabbit ears.” I don’t have time to explain all my cultural references. You had to be there, seriously. Good times, good times...

I tried to do all the right things, take sensible precautions, not be too urgent—after all, I signed up for six-months! Plenty of time, for plenty of fish in the sea.

Turns out though—it was the second guy I talked to that ended up being The Guy. After three months on-line, two different dating sites, a plethora of emails and a handful of assorted dates, I found myself repeatedly drawn back to Jon. Jon is funny, and wise—meaning he thinks I’m funny—and is very Zen. He loves to read, makes his own salsa, and is kind. In the bonus category, he smells delicious, is taller than I am, and wrote his own profile. Since we met on Match.com, I must say—it’s the best $146 I ever invested.

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?

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

It’s Tuesday morning—if you can call 2:30 am “morning” --- and I can’t sleep. After two hours of tossing and turning and annoying the cats, I finally give in and get up. Rising at 4:30 am makes me feel virtuous—as though I were getting a jump on the day --- get the cows milked and the chickens fed, all before sunup.

After my first cup of high-octane tea I remembered I have neither heifer nor hen. Mostly because getting up early is not my cup of tea. By my second cup of tea—which is, literally, my cup of tea-- I remembered I have a Garden Gate due yesterday. Oops!

What to write? My SBG is still at the water/fertilize/nap stage so there’s not much to write about there. Do I write about the Stay at Home/Stay Healthy Don’t Kill My Friends Order? Because while I know it’s hard to do—I miss my kids and grand kids in a visceral way-- I also understand the science behind it and the need for it. But even I am not in the mood for that soapbox today.

Should I write about how weird it is when I went to Costco for supplies and they had zero fresh chicken? As in NONE. They did have plenty of ground turkey—and by plenty I mean they had the entire refrigerator case that used to hold chicken tenderloins, breasts and thighs stacked three deep … now holds ground turkey—spread one package deep over the entire case. It’s very good psychologically—It keeps people from getting that “plague of locusts” I-must-consume-this-before-you-do feeling. Which is good, because I’m not a fan of ground turkey.

I am a fan of bathroom tissue. Out of curiosity I check to see if they have any. Nope. But I was told they had some earlier.

As Americans, we are so used to plenty, so used to buying in bulk at Costco—because it’s COSTCO for heaven’s sake! It’s what they’re FOR, and having limits on items is rather disconcerting. Once again, I’m glad they have them, I just wish we were back in a time when limits weren’t necessary.

None of these topics are entertaining me this morning; they are all a little too close to the bone. So, after my third cup of tea I thought, “What if I tell you about my many adventures in on-line dating?”

GULP.

I think I’m going to need more tea.