A blog such as this would not be complete without a foray into the world of internet dating...!
It's always more entertaining reading about somebody else's joys and mishaps, so here I am, sharing for your vicarious reading pleasure, and no doubt risking offending in the process. I guess that's the writer's privilege..
So a few weeks ago, a girlfriend suggested I try internet dating, specifically on a site called .. wait for it... Plenty Of Fish (POF for short, how bloody imaginative is that!) Apparently during her brief journey into the fishy realms of the deep blue dating pool, she had found some Joy. And when there was no joy, it was a great way to while away an otherwise boring weeknight whilst waiting for XFactor to start.
So I thought, as any self respecting single female of questionable age and waning brain cells is wont to do, why the hell not.
Creating the profile was easy. You basically pick a moniker that hasn't already been snapped up (probably the most challenging bit in the whole exercise), fill in a heap of questions, state what you want, what you don't want, upload a photo or ten (in my case, one because less is always more) and bang, you're swimmin' baby!
My fishnet filled up at the speed of light. Never was fishing this easy!. Oh, I'm so popular. OK, apparently this happens to every new female; it sparks a veritable fish feeding frenzy while they all check you out, nibble, dart away again, circle like sharks, give you a bit of a disinterested chew, and then leave you floating on the bottom of the POF Pool like rejected burley, ready for the bottom suckers to clean you up and dispose of your carcass.
Four weeks into it, and I have some observations to share.
Rule No.1: (Physical Selves) Men are never as tall or as athletic (or even as "average" for that matter) as they state in their profiles. Standard six footers become 5'10", and 5'9" become the same size as me, or even shorter. (I'm 5'6"). An athletic build can mean anything from built like the Incredible Hulk, or built like Andrew Denton. And average is the most frightening of all, because average would appear to mean anything up to about 25 kilos overweight. I did meet one "thin build" and he in fact was very thin. If only thin was what I really want my man to be, this would have been a good honest effort. But I did not meet a single "average" man who wasn't markedly overweight. So if this is the Average Aussie Bloke, frankly I'm a little alarmed.
Rule No.2: (Smiles) If a man is not smiling with his mouth open in his photos, he either (a) has really rotten teeth or (b) has no teeth at all. I'm not sure which is better, but from this point on, if your gob ain't open, I surmise there's not much going on in there in the way of denatalia. I don't want a man who I have to puree everything for; you're gonna burn out my bamix in no time.
And ditto for dudes wearing hats, but we're talking about hair issues here of course, or lack thereof. Grey does not equal bald, and bald does not equal grey, by the way. Your scalp may be grey with age, but that doesn't equal hair! And no, hair on your face does not count as hair on your head. Ditto hair on your back. Plus side, you're not going to go through much of my shampoo.
Those without any photo at all should be avoided at all costs. You might think you'd like a surprise, but it's apt to be a scary one.
Having said all that, most of my experiences turned out to be positive ones. If nothing else, it was a pleasant way to while away an hour or so, enjoying a coffee or a beer, swapping dating stories, and then doing the big Exit Stage Left. And I have met a couple of very friendly decent fellows amidst the mayhem that turned up in my dating net, some of which I can already tell are going to remain friends going forward. So all is not lost.
A sense of humor is mandatory. Also most of these blokes informed me that from their side of the fence, they didn't fare a lot better from the fairer sex in the honesty stakes. So on that note, I'm putting my teeth back in and getting the hell outta dodge...
(to be continued..) Xox
