Look I know I’m supposed to be all secretive and feel somewhat desperate and embarrassed about being involved in Internet dating. But when you have a blog it’s almost mandatory to share your unfortunate sides (I have many) with everyone.
When I first got online, it was great. I put an amusingly flippant profile online and picture of me in a red booberella. I anticipated fielding hundreds of requests, and having loads of entertaining dates with the wonders and horrors of the Melbourne singles scene. I expected nothing more than to share the gory details with my friends entirely for our amusement, and perhaps meet a nice person or two. Just something fun to do.
I used to get about 10 responses a day, which made me feel grand. Some were OK, some had not read a word of my profile, I saw a lot of chaps who loved The Da Vinci Code, and some were not too bad.
Then I had a most disgraceful experience – for which the less is said the better, but let’s just say he rated all the food I cooked him out of ten. I went into a giant sulk for a few months, while all my beloveds reminded me what a vibrant hottie I am. I continued to sulk. Then Mr Boyle rang me up. He listened to my tale of woe, and turned it over, looking at it from all angles. He then barked: “Mate, it’s like this. You’ve got to get the fuck over yourself. You fell over and grazed your knee – big deal. I’M HERE TO PUT YOU BACK ON THE PONY AND I DON’T CARE HOW MUCH YOU CRY YOU WON’T GET ANY ICECREAM UNTIL YOU DO.”
So I teased him awhile about his pin head, then did as instructed. I penned another profile and sifted through my most booberella pictures. Then Mrs Evenden rang me up. She said my profile was delightful for people who know me – but frightening for men unacquainted with my brand of sarcasm. It was likely to attract competitive, tiresome arseholes wanting to challenge me on every point. I was also instructed to “find a picture with more of your lovely smile and less of your lovely tits.”
So I teased her awhile for weighing less than her 10-month old puppy, then rewrote, again. Demure and engaging, as told. A closeup photo, only. And do you know what happened than? I got no bloody replies at all. I was lucky to get even one response a day, from blokes spouting such bon mots as ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder’, ‘No ex-boyfriend issues, please’ and ‘Love U! Lololol xoxxo ;p SeeUL8tr etc’. You can imagine what they looked like. One chap was 45, married with three kids and looking for ‘some harmless fun on the side – no strings’. Ewwwww! Ew! Ew! Ew!
Like the broken record of single women everywhere – what is wrong with these blokes. I know what I want – but what the bloody hell do they want. Why is it that even though I am a writer I cannot write sensibly about myself. Why is it that when you are well-endowed, men think you are a bit of a ‘goer’ (like the woman on the left). Why is it that when I removed the offending mad cans from my profile, all I got was ‘I am looking for my one true love my soulmate you must be my goddess nothing less will suffice’ ???
Well I am nonplussed I must say. I am neither hither nor thither.