Is someone spying on me or playing a joke on me? I just returned from a rain-soaked sojourn to my mailbox to collect my daily allotment of bills and advertisements with a surprise in my hands. But it wasn’t a juicy surprise, like a cheque for a million bucks from Publishers’ Clearing House, or a misdelivered box of prescription pain pills. Instead, it was an invitation to join a singles matching network.
Never once in the eight years since I’ve been a widower have I received offers of this kind. How did they get my name? I tore open the glossy, red envelope, slightly mortified by my own curiosity. Dear NORMAN R. SAXON, it read, are you ready to meet exciting, local singles? For just $59.99 per month, you can browse the profiles of hundreds of attractive, successful, exciting, singles right in your area! Or, if you prefer, you can use our compatibility service to put you in touch with singles we think would be great for you- at no additional charge!
Geez, I thought. How embarrassing. What kind of desperate nutjobs are willing to cough up sixty bucks just to be able to have a cup of coffee with another desperate nutjob? I can just imagine what kind of a woman I’d get set up with: she’d be a bald, three hundred pounder with a lazy eye and a mysterious outbreak of scabs on her face. But, being the nice guy I am, I’d say, “Hi, I’m Norm,” and I’d buy her a coffee anyway. Then she’d fall to the ground, have a seizure, and then get back into her chair and start clucking like a chicken and drooling onto her sweatshirt. Or maybe she’d shit herself. Anyway, I’m not that lonely. Yet.
Then I heard a little voice in my head. It sounded like my wife. Why are you being such a dick, Norm? said the voice. Meeting people is hard, as you well know. There are probably loads of perfectly nice, introverted women out there that are just as lonely as you are, and just want someone to have a coffee with. Anyway, you’re balding too, so get off your high horse, Mr. Pitt.
Shit.
Two minutes later I was filling out the personality profile. Still in my raincoat.
There were, of course the requisite questions about my age, build, and sexual orientation. Then there was one that surprised me. It asked me what my average annual income was, and gave a list of ranges from which to choose. Isn’t that a little personal? I mean, where I was raised, it was just plain rude to ask other people about their financial situations. I guess I’m just old fashioned. After all, the bitches want riches. I thought about selecting a range that would place me below the poverty line, just to see if I could get a date based on my winning personality alone. The little voice in my head that sounds like my wife cleared its throat as if to say, Don’t be a self-defeating moron, Norm. I relented and filled in the correct bubble.
Tell us a little bit about yourself, urged the form. Try to include information that other people would find interesting or charming, but remember- be honest! What the hell was I supposed to write? Charming? Moi? Let’s see- I could tell them about how I have a freckle where I part my hair- my wife used to think it was really cute. Now that I have less hair, you can see it even better. Is that what they mean? Or, should I tell them that I have a fish? Chicks dig goldfish, right? Or how about this: I have thirteen pairs of argyle socks. I have three socks in my drawer without mates, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to throw them out. My guiltiest pleasure is the entire Celine Dion discography. My favorite ice cream flavor is vanilla. I drink a pot of coffee a day. I eat a bowl of All-Bran every other day for regularity.
Get in line, ladies.
The sad thing is, I actually wrote some of this stuff down. Well, not the part about the socks or the All-Bran. After that, I drew a blank.
And then I crumpled it up and threw it in the trash.
Looks like it’s shaping up to be another quiet night at home with Celine, Mr. Pibb (that’s the fish’s name), and a bowl of plain vanilla. At least I know who my friends are.
4 Comments
January 18, 2008 at 8:06 pm
Norm — Are you kidding? You’d take that horrid woman you described out for coffee and pay?! Unlike you, I actually succumbed to a similar ploy. I plunked down an obscene amount of money — as much as it cost me to take a 10 day European vacation — in order to meet 5 guys through Together/The Right One dating service. I won’t bore you with the details. At $500 per date I was hoping for someone who seemed half as fabulous as you (and I see you refer to yourself as a “loser extraordinaire”) and wouldn’t make me split the check at the 99 Restaurant.
January 21, 2008 at 3:55 pm
That’s a real shame about the forfeited European vacation. I hope you’re planning on making it up to yourself by taking yourself on a date to Europe. I’ve been to Europe a couple of times, and can honestly say I’ve not met a stranger that compares to a daily dose of pasta, cathedrals, wine and art.
February 3, 2008 at 10:45 pm
You should put the part about the socks back in. The fact that you won’t discard mateless socks shows a sensitive side (as does the Celine collection).
June 30, 2008 at 7:53 pm
I agree with Allison. While the Celine Dion collection and socks stuff is depressing me, some other loser would probably think its kinda cute. There are all kinds of losers out there.