I got weary of all the peppy profile suggestions from online
dating sites, which go something like this: What
makes you happy? What do you most enjoy doing? What are some things you can't
live without? Their upbeat eagerness -- likely penned by 20-somethings or
techies in India -- was beginning to rile me.
So on my latest attempt, on a site called JPe*pleMeet.com
(the asterisk is subbing for a Star of David, just in case you weren't hip to
what "J" stands for), I decided to experiment and swipe starry-eyed
for wry, impolite, and honest. Then, see if anyone would bite.
In the paragraph that asks for "A little about
me..." I wrote:
"Full disclosure: I'm an early riser and fade in the
afternoons. I exercise regularly but need someone to open jar lids. I gave up
my car when moving downtown, so if you still drive, including "at
night," you're my hero. Sorry if you're down in the dumps, but I'm looking
for someone upbeat. You should be able to text. Please have a smart phone and
know how to send messages. I love quality TV. If you haven't heard of Netflix,
we're likely not a match. And if you don't have a sense of humor, we have
nothing in common."
Also, in this third dating site that I've visited -- JDate
and Our Time are the other two -- I made my desired age range 70 to 80, and
location, Chicago. Despite my specified criterion, you can bet I'll get
responses from 65-year-olds living in Denver, or 87-year-olds that "Like"
my profile. Proof to me that most men don't read any of the physical
descriptions beyond "athletic and toned." (Some jerks go so far as to
warn us women not to message if we're overweight.)
While my "A little about me..." is on target, I
omitted some other truths. But at some point, when I truly get burnt-out on
these virtual experiences, I'll add: "I go to bed at 8 p.m., so if you're seeking
a dance partner or a party girl, step away from the screen. I have a short
attention span. If our lunch date lasts longer than one-and-a-half hours, I'll
make an excuse to depart. It will either be boredom that sends me scurrying, or
a need for an afternoon nap."
Based on my above bitchiness, you might assume I've had
dreadful experiences with online dates. Au contraire. Through Our Time, I've
gone out on four lunch and two dinner dates with quite pleasant men. They were
all nice looking, well-dressed, smart, stable, sane, and impressively, all
picked up the check for my meal.
Here's a little about them. But instead of disclosing
their screen names, I'll call them by my labels.
The Libertarian was 72, possibly a hippie in his youth, and lived
in a beautiful, homey condo overlooking Millennium Park. We had dinner at an
Asian restaurant, and afterwards went to his place so I could attempt to set up
his Apple TV. No hanky panky, and no spark for either of us. But we are
Facebook friends.
I had two dates with the Chef, 85. The first was lunch at
Gene & Georgetti's, and the second was a gourmet dinner at his luxurious
condo. Both of us were very staid, the only heartbeats were for his cooking.
At 82, Mr. Fox Valley was a genial caregiver and widower. He
was intrigued enough to drive the 30-or so miles to meet me for lunch in my
neighborhood. He invited me to spend a weekend at his home, but when I froze,
he quickly added, "I have two bedrooms." I considered a day trip, but
after contemplating the folly of a city-to-whistle-stop relationship, I backed
out. We remain friends.
The Professor was date number four, 72, a widower from
Evanston. We met halfway at Cafe Selmarie in Lincoln Square. We talked ill
spouses and bad deaths, computers, and families. We each expressed "had a
nice time." I'm not sure who will make the next move.
Knowing you, dear reader, you're already combing my
descriptions for your favorite and wondering why romance hasn't swooped up and
blinded us. I have a theory: For the men, they're likely being pursued by a
gaggle of grandmas and are taking their time to enjoy the attention and dates.
As for me, if you've read between the lines of "A
little about me..." you'll see a very ambivalent dater who enjoys writing
about matchmaking more than actually doing it. And then there's this: None were
Tommy.