Looking for Love in All the Wrong Papers : Valentines: The classifieds may be a ‘90s timesaver, but they’re heartless.
In one afternoon, a girlfriend of mine shopped for a house to rent, a used washing machine and a boyfriend--without getting out of bed. Apparently the days of cramming into the local meat market to size up an eligible catch are passe. Now you can peruse the personal ads, circle your choices and, before you can say cappuccino, connect with Mr. or Ms. Right--or at least their private voice mail anyway. And you don’t even have to shower.
Recently divorced, my friend has found herself reentering the dating world at the same time that her teen-age daughter is doing the very same thing for the first time. While the kid has school dances and dependable weekend parties at which to mingle with the opposite sex, my friend has fewer options. Like most middle-agers, she’s snoring in her easy chair about the time the happening clubs are opening. And, besides heartbreak, there’s the potential for a lawsuit with today’s office romance. As a single parent, who has time, much less the energy, to pursue quality companionship?
So she was swept up in the ‘90s answer to a blind date. Instead of having a well-meaning friend set you up with a perfect stranger, you hunt through the classifieds and find your own.
If you think the Simpson defense team is tough, wait till you’re cross-examined by a potential date. It seems that in addition to hair color, height and weight, level of aerobic skill is critical to today’s man on the make. “Are you the high-impact or low-impact type?” one pseudo-suitor finally asked in exasperation as my friend became confused by his repeated questions about her fitness.
Her lack of interest in and limited knowledge of things material left another candidate discouraged. Within the first three minutes of their telephone conversation, he had presented her with an inventory of his high-tech possessions. Unimpressed and with some internal red flags unfurling, still she agreed to meet this guy at his favorite espresso bar.
“How will I know it’s you?” she asked.
“I’ll be in a green Infiniti,” he responded.
“Well, I’ll be in a black dress,” she said.
She was intrigued by the sweet nature of one ad that read simply, “I like long walks, good books and tickling.” Who knew that his idea of tickling is covered in the memoirs of the Marquis de Sade.
Having completed the survey of yet another inquisitor, she had one query of her own: “Why so many questions?”
“I don’t want to waste my time,” he responded.
In a world where phones are competing with beds for romantic liaisons and fast food has given way to fast flames, it’s apparent that many people are more interested in arriving than in getting there.
You get what you pay for, I told her. Mail order bras never fit right, those shopping-club jewels are never as big as they were on TV. It doesn’t get better than that first glance across a room or a chance bump into that oh-so-perfect stranger when you least expect it. When your eyes meet, there’s only one question to ask.
“Where have you been all my life?”