This'll Be Easy

As I'm certain most men do, I was under the impression that dating would be easy. After all, I was immensely sought after before I was married. I'd just pick up where I left off. I was ready, stable, good looking, all the right components. The only problem was, the dating pool had disappeared and I was left standing on the bank of a dried up pond. A few attempts of going to the movies alone and dining by myself left me feeling conspicuous and very uncomfortable.

Not wanting to appear desperate, ( I had my pride ), I took to more solitary activities. I painted my apartment just about every three days, bought useless junk on Ebay, and bought a guitar that I couldn't afford as a kid.

Then a stroke of brilliance, On-Line Dating!!!....why hadn't I thought of this before? I used the computer for web design and a thousand other things!!! The solution was right in front of my face. So, as many of us do, I created a profile and looked at the potential "daters". I didn't receive any offers the first week, so I took the initiative and wrote to one or two women. They responded, phone calls were exchanged with seemingly normal, well adjusted candidates.....but then came the inevitable meetings. I was optimistic, but that faded faster than new Levi's. Allow me to elaborate:

There was the woman that sat in front of me and spoke almost without breathing about landscaping her yard. The real dilemma, ( as she stated ), was where to place the enormous piles of manure. This monopolized the seemingly endless and one-sided conversation. Poop, we talked about poop. At sometime that I don't actually recall, I began thinking about ice cream while songs by Alvin and the Chipmunks looped in my brain. I can remember seeing her lips moving, but I stared at her forehead not wanting to make direct eye contact for fear that she might see the horror in my eyes. And this was not to be the end........

Discouraged, I meet with another woman. She, as was explained to me in painful detail, was the person that hangs those little wire displays all over the shelves at grocery stores. You know which ones I mean......the ones you lacerate your forehead on while bending over to get the crackers..yeah, those. Well, apparently, there's some West Side Story turf war between the wire hangers and the other vendors. Yep, the stuff dreams are made of......again, and although I couldn't see myself, I could feel the glazed look come over my face. I unconsciously began poking my hand with a fork. It was time to leave.

Now, it was official. My spirit had been broken. I wanted to take my disappointment out on something. I went to my computer to quit that misleading dating site, with all of it's pictures of happy couples and it's boastings of successes....that would show'em all.

Something, and I don't know what, compelled me to approach one last person. Her profile sounded like something I might write. She seemed cerebrally witty and was so beautiful, I was certain my attempt at contacting her would be fruitless. Again, I was wrong.....