Lately I have been pursuing the companionship of men via online dating sites in the hope that I meet someone a bit older, with a job, their own flat etc. In the gag reflex inducing sea of “cuddles on the sofa”, “red wine”, “a mean pasta”, “DVD’s” and “getting away for the weekend” I have found a few of the right kind of weirdos who may or may not be stabbers, but have least picked up the cheque.
One poor guy who actually works with a girl I know. I confided in her, she got drunk, told a colleague of theirs and the guy apparently got a ribbing at work about it. I wasn’t pleased. And quite embarrassing to be actually blocked from contacting this guy ever again… He must have been thrilled.
Another guy was very nice, told me he was looking forward to the next meeting because he had such a great time, wanted to meet my cat, big smiles, big kiss etc etc. Then what I call the malediction of the British – a text message a little while later saying “Cards on the table I felt no romance…” Ladies and gents, why not just say that to my face instead of acting otherwise? I really curse the British for the “nice to the face, grimace in the cuff.” You don’t know you do it and I fall for it every time.
Another guy is actually a transvestite, no date but funny chats. He’s great but too young for me and I’m not old enough to be a cougar yet.
At least I don’t feel totally invisible. But at the end of today, I just melted into the sofa watching Law and Order Criminal Intent with the super hot Jewish detective never wanting to step foot outside of my house again and happier in my $9.50 K-mart grey marle old man tracky dacks and a grey Chesty Bond vest.