A Surprising Foray into Dating. Online. You Know. Like Serial Killers and Cat Owners Do.

‘You
know that wearing extra eyeliner isn’t actually flirting, don’t you?’ she said
to me.

‘I…
that’s not… Of course. I mean…’ I was stuttering.

‘And
that you’re not in a relationship with a guy simply because you’ve told me you
fancy him?’

I
hung my head in shame. This, Internet, is a romance intervention.

Those
who love me have taken a vote: I need to get laid, and by somebody I actually like. They’ve qualified that vote with a clause stating that if I won’t grow
some vagina and actually demonstrate affection for boys I might already know
(because, OBVIOUSLY that’s impossible. Vulnerability and possible rejection and
hey-I-was-totally-just-kidding-hahahaha awkwardness that ruins homework
club/supper club/book club/Power ballad appreciation club? NOPE.) then I must
meet new boys, who I’m to deliberately approach with L-word potential in mind.

Basically
I’ve been condemned to online dating.

I’ve
been thinking a lot about getting older, apparently wiser, and with the help of
my girlfriends have realised that that yup. I’ve proved I can do it alone. Now
it’s time to relocate those warm and smushies for a divorcee twelve years my
senior who already has kids.

At my
birthday party, an intimate dinner around the kitchen table for ten of my
favourites, I asked my girls, Is that
weird, if I only message divorced men with grey hair? I expected them to be
like, Laura! Whatever you want! There
aren’t any rules to this kind of thing! And of course instead they were all,
ewwww, gross, that’s really creepy. No,
Laura. The answer is no- you cannot only message divorced men. What’s wrong
with you?

But
then it feels even creepier arbitrarily telling the search engine that I’m a
woman, looking for a man roughly between the ages of 30 and 40, and then deciding
which of those men might be interesting based on a thumbnail-sized photo, and
messaging them to say… what? “Nice profile”?

“I
like Alexander McCall Smith too.”

“Oh,
you skydived into the Himalayan hills to live with a remote tribe of
aboriginals for a month, teaching them how to weave sustainable reed baskets
that you now import and sell on Colombia Road in the non-profit you founded
when you’re not being an exec in the banking industry? Are you a liar, or just
really bad in bed?”

I
like the Internet- I spend my life on it- and I think it makes perfect sense to
look for a sweetheart by using a medium designed for other people also seeking
a sweetheart. Also, I enjoy assessing people’s grammar before I commit to exacting
fantasy about how we’ll plant the perennials in our herb garden whilst I wait
for them to respond to my “wink”. But also: it’s full of crazies.

I
spent Saturday morning setting up my profile, hopeful and a bit smug because I’d
read an article on the Wall Street Journal about how to do it properly and
I felt like I’d followed The Rules Of Profile Making pretty fucking well i.e.
I’d date me.

I was
tinkling away when a message popped up: Hey,
your profile looks really great. You’re beautiful, too.

Bit much, I thought to myself, clicking to his
profile. I decided that he seemed quite nice, though, possibly, if not a little
eager. Maybe it was just the nerves of it all that made him seem unimaginative.
Hmmmm, I wondered.

I got
another message. Oh, I see you’ve looked
at my photos and aren’t interested in me then, it said, which OH HAIIIII
CRAZY.

I was
startled, because who says that? THEN ANOTHER MESSAGE APPEARED. You know, you don’t give the impression on
your page that you’re so superficial. It’s a bit misleading when you’re actually
so shallow.

Can I
get a rounding crescendo of what. the actual. fuck. Is this it? Is this what
happens when you date online? HOW IS IT OKAY THAT WE CAN ALL SEE WHO HAS
“VIEWED” US AND THEN NOT FOLLOWED THROUGH WITH A RESPONSE AND WHY CAN HE SEE
THAT I’VE LOOKED AT HIM AND WHY HASN’T THE ONE I REALLY WANTED TO REPLY OPENED
MY EMAIL AND OH LORD I’M GOING TO DIE ALONE AND THEY’LL FIND ME WITH NOTHING
BUT CAKE CRUMBS ON MY CHEST AND MY HAND IN MY KNICKERS SHITSHITSHIT.

Urgh.

My worry was interrupted by a text: Been thinking.
When you go on these dates, wearing
eyeliner is too obvious. If I were you I wouldn’t wear ANY eyeliner, then men
will guess by the ironic fact that you’re NOT wearing it that you want them.

I told
my friend what had just happened, with the mean man. She replied and was supportive. 

Then she added: Your profile isn’t just
lots of close-ups of your eyelashes, is it?

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