Journal entry: April 3, 2011 (age 41) – Dating Pool
Using a Magic Marker, I just finished writing a flier that I’m going to copy onto fluorescent paper and staple to telephone poles in my area:
Dear Potential Date,
My name is Tim. I am an idiosyncratic mezzomorph with exquisite elbows. People often mistake me for someone 15/17ths my age. My height of 5-foot-11 allows me entry on all but the scariest of amusement park rides. I’m a Taurus, but in no way am I a Ford. On the Myers-Briggs personality test I took in college, I was halfway between an ENFJ and an INFJ, which means I am a shy extrovert. I’d like to meet a woman with her own luggage. I hope we will share interests in organizing CDs, exceeding the RDA of chocolate and chocolate byproducts, and living life to the half-fullest.
What do you smell like?
My marriage of 11 years ended a little more than a year ago, and, previously, I hadn’t been “on the market” since 1995. Back then, I had figured out that the term “Internet” had nothing to do with mixed doubles in tennis, but hadn’t identified it as a place to look for dates. (I looked for Cindy Margolis a few times, but I’m pretty sure she wasn’t looking for me.) Texting was a term I used for picking up women at the library. (“Ah, I see you’re spending some time in the 014s. I’m into bibliographies of anonymous and pseudonymous works, too.”) In other words, I’m a little rusty. You kids still like the grunge music, right? Oh well, if you fit my definition of “kid” – under 30 – we’re probably not going to last anyway.
Can we just try dating for a while? Does anybody even do that anymore? When my parents were single, it was common for men and women to be dating several different people until things got “serious” with one. Judging by today’s reactions, you are officially considered a couple if you have been seen together in the same bar twice, or in the same Facebook photo once. It’s been years, but I still get asked why I went to Paris with Flat Stanley.
So tell me about you. I’m serious. If I wanted to know more about me, I would read my journal, and who wants to do that? I want to hear whatever you want to tell me. (Yipes – except that!) It’d make me feel good if you asked me something about me once in a while. That way I’ll know you’re not on conversational autopilot. How do you feel about that?
Do you like being asked if you like piña coladas? I don’t. I do want to know what love is, and who wrote the book of it, but not why fools fall in it. If you do not recognize any of the previous musical references, please refer to my definition of “kid.” I kid you not. Precocious 29-year-olds are welcome, pending verification.
If you are reading this flier because you were looking for a fabulous work-at-home, weight-loss, or rummage sale opportunity, I apologize and urge you to move on to the next telephone pole. Please don’t rip me down.
In closing, let me say that I’m not sure who I’m looking for, but it will be very nice to meet you.
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