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Over beers and banter, we sized each other up and over-shared, checking off those boxes our middle-aged online personas had created. First dates that are too long (or turn into second dates on the same night) are deemed more likely to create a premature and false sense of intimacy. They’re probably right, but I’ll be damned if we didn’t do it again the next night and most nights since.
If I have been somewhere at least eight times, I can get there without much assistance, but until such times, I must lean on Google maps, Siri, my daughter reading directions from the phone that is smarter than both of us, and those friends and colleagues who consistently “bring me in” by phone from my destination - where they are already waiting. I almost learned from my ordeal with breast cancer to be kinder and more patient. #ITook AChance Ignoring the raised eyebrows and the sage advice from online dating sites which would deem his boldness a red flag, I broke protocol.
My teenage daughter will attest that I have yet to reach a level of proficiency in either area. Without any protracted emailing phase, I agreed to meet the tall and forward stranger the next afternoon. Still, disenchanted by dating - online and off - I half-expected Mr Forward to be five feet tall and 95-years-old.
At the end of the day, it’s all about survival and control. You get the idea, and you’ll therefore understand why I abandoned the idea of online dating - or it abandoned me. I dismissed the interest in football (the American kind, for God’s sake) and golf (eye-roll), hoped he meant it when he checked “no preference” on hair colour, and held on to his mention of integrity - and the picture of the Harley Davidson. He said he worked out every day - of course he did, who doesn’t? Maybe he didn’t really like Bob Dylan (a deal-breaker) and maybe he went to the gym thrice daily.
We have strict rules – no married people, no sexual profiles.