It’s one thing to be able to look through batches of potential suitors anonymously. It’s another to actually make contact with one—or several, as the case may be. What would I do if someone wanted to meet me? Or worse, what would I do if I was interested in meeting someone whose profile looked appealing?
As soon as I’d agreed to do electronic dating, I had started worrying about that. I finally decided I would take my time before actually meeting anyone face-to-face. Emailing would be safe, and I could edit and proof my mail before I sent it in order to make sure I impressed my potential suitors—if I wanted to. This way, I figured, we’d know each other better so we’d know whether to finally go on a date.
The first invitation I got to meet was a test of my plan. His profile picture was a headshot of a man with lots of wavy, white hair. It was long enough that it looked a little carefree, but short enough that it wasn’t unkempt. He wore rimless glasses that made him look bookishly intelligent. I wondered if he was a teacher. He wanted to meet me to go for a walk around the city lake. He looked harmless enough, and certainly nice, but . . . I imagined a dark alley, a robbery, or worse. I asked if he’d mind emailing a bit first, and to my delighted surprise, he agreed!
His emails were to the point, brief, but very interesting. I soon learned he was a retired newspaper reporter. Aha! He’d learned to adhere to spatial parameters in his writing career, and he obviously liked news. I carefully crafted my emails to him, trying to match his interests, while staying as concise as possible.
I failed. After trying to cram thoughts and feelings into a short sentence, I gave up and figured he could edit them himself. I am who I am, I told myself, and I like to talk, even if it’s only through cyberspace. Each email I wrote to him was full of interesting tidbits, but I was careful not to reveal too much—otherwise, what would I have to say verbally if we ever met face-to-face?
I also tried to make sure I came across as a caring, thoughtful woman, but not the smothering, mothering type I’d heard men so dreaded. I botched that, too.
When my “Roving Reporter” mentioned he’d ridden a bike, hit a mud puddle, and spattered mud up the back of his shirt, unfortunately the mom in me told him he should immediately soak his shirt in detergent first and rinse it. I finished my missive with a dissertation on how to whiten whites. Smothering? I practically asphyxiated him with my concern. I also let him know I was amused at his predicament (lots of LOLs and happy-face emoticons) and subtly praised him for that kind of exercise at his age (“Wow! You still ride a bike? That’s great!”) I was positive I was intriguing him.
After several days, and many emails, at last I felt comfortable enough to tell him my name. He wrote back, succinctly, of course: “Becky—nice name.” Oh! He likes me!
What I read into those three words would fill a steamy set of narratives. I was hooked on this whole electronic dating thing. He wouldn’t have given me that tiny, insignificant compliment if he wasn’t really interested in me, right? I decided to let Fate take its course and casually emailed him a suggestion that we finally meet in person, and . . . GLITCH! At least that’s how he put it. I felt “crushed” over my first “crush.”
Evidently while I was taking my time, thinking I was winning him over, another female match for him had totally skipped the email part by meeting face-to-face, which ultimately led to another date, and another, which led him to tell me he didn’t want to juggle two people.
Okay. My first experience of electronic dating excitement shorted out. But I absorbed that escape excuse of not wanting to juggle. Everyone can relate to that. May have to use that someday, I thought. Lesson learned. Nice touch. Like it.