"Does a string of bad dates really equal one good one?" — Carrie (again), Sex and the City
There have been a number of things introduced in the last decade with the purpose of improving the life of The Single Woman. Spray-on pantyhose. Those breast-enhancement things that look like chicken cutlets. Starbucks Doubleshot (to get to work on time the morning after a good date). Some even say Plan B, but I’m not going there. And then there are Internet dating Web sites.
I have two good girl friends that met their husbands through Internet dating services. What’s more, my ex-husband met HIS fiancée through an Internet dating site. Who am I to judge? Apparently casting a wider net works when one tries to net the right fish...for some.
So I answered the lengthy questionnaire with honesty and serious consideration for who the system might puke out as my viable prospect. It may have taken me an hour to answer the questions, and there were points during the process that reminded me of the Myers-Briggs’ personality assessments. But time and second-guessing aside, this was preferable over spending an hour figuring out what still qualifies as "fun clothes" in my wardrobe, asking myself why I don’t own any hoochie shoes, re-establishing a relationship with my estranged eveningwear makeup, dragging “self and friends” to an undisclosed bar location, subjecting “self and friends” to spending too much money on drinks and bad music, and finally engaging in the inevitable candid discussion of the phenomenon that only the weird, offensive men seem to hit on women in a bar.
Dating Web sites manage to turn optimism and excitement into sentiments more akin to frustration and anxiety. And after a couple of actual “prospect” encounters, more aptly put: Fear and loathing. My harsh criticism wasn’t born overnight, but rather over the course of many.
There have been a number of things introduced in the last decade with the purpose of improving the life of The Single Woman. Spray-on pantyhose. Those breast-enhancement things that look like chicken cutlets. Starbucks Doubleshot (to get to work on time the morning after a good date). Some even say Plan B, but I’m not going there. And then there are Internet dating Web sites.
I have two good girl friends that met their husbands through Internet dating services. What’s more, my ex-husband met HIS fiancée through an Internet dating site. Who am I to judge? Apparently casting a wider net works when one tries to net the right fish...for some.
So I answered the lengthy questionnaire with honesty and serious consideration for who the system might puke out as my viable prospect. It may have taken me an hour to answer the questions, and there were points during the process that reminded me of the Myers-Briggs’ personality assessments. But time and second-guessing aside, this was preferable over spending an hour figuring out what still qualifies as "fun clothes" in my wardrobe, asking myself why I don’t own any hoochie shoes, re-establishing a relationship with my estranged eveningwear makeup, dragging “self and friends” to an undisclosed bar location, subjecting “self and friends” to spending too much money on drinks and bad music, and finally engaging in the inevitable candid discussion of the phenomenon that only the weird, offensive men seem to hit on women in a bar.
Dating Web sites manage to turn optimism and excitement into sentiments more akin to frustration and anxiety. And after a couple of actual “prospect” encounters, more aptly put: Fear and loathing. My harsh criticism wasn’t born overnight, but rather over the course of many.
Ladies and gentleman, I introduce Bachelor No. 1...
