“I enjoy candlelit dinners, a walk on a moonlit beach, and spending time in the woods enjoying the beautiful nature around us.” Oh please. Who writes this dreck? I’ve perused dating sites and laughed at the liars on there. Give me someone who has honed at least some self-reflection, won’t try to drag my shabby butt for a hike in the woods, and won’t assume I’m frothing to participate in any of the following:
If you want me to scuba dive, skydive, or join you in mountain climbing, or if you are into camping, motorcycles, or any type of skiing—I may not be the woman for you. Please don’t invite me to go horseback riding, or play Frisbee with your pit bull. Really. Don’t. If you’re thinking of dragging me to football, basketball, baseball, boxing, soccer, hockey, wrestling, drag racing, or any loud event where there is a large crowd of Romans, don’t bother. And if your life is spent sprawled on the couch in front of the tube glued to such events 24-7—really, really, don’t bother. I don’t even have a television for Godsakes.
Okay, so what might we have in common? I dance: swing, country, Cajun, waltz, some ballroom, a little salsa. Most Sunday nights you’ll find me on the dance floor, strutting a fast country two-step or whirling the room in a waltz, grinning and dancing cheek-to-cheek with all the guys.
A big reader, I also write: I penned a family memoir but then some of my relatives stopped talking to me. My reading tastes tilt toward memoirs, fiction, nonfiction, biographies, personal exploration, Enneagram, things like that. (I’m a Self-Preservation One with a Nine wing—which can make me a pain in the ass and annoying; sorry.)
Though interested in the world around me, especially people and what makes us tick, I’m not so interested in discussing creation, global warming, or politics if we stand on opposite sides of the fence. These days it appears there is no place for us to meet in the middle. I don’t take a newspaper (I long ago canceled my subscription, sick to death of reading about Clinton and Monica) and don’t care about the latest headlines regarding drunken movie stars, overpaid athletes, and ridiculous reality shows.
I relish good food and dark chocolate, don’t smoke, seldom drink, do swear but try not to when I’m around my brother, did yoga, did meditate, don’t go to church, do pray, and practice blessing those who irritate me. I grew up in the 1950s and ’60s, and I’m grateful for that. I go to bed when I want and get up when I want. I try to remember that it’s none of my business what others think of me—though I do think everyone is entitled to my opinion. I can be on the obsessive-compulsive side, get crabby if I haven’t eaten, and have zero sense of direction. My memory left the building with Elvis, so a good part of my time is spent looking for my keys, glasses, and phone, the rest of the time I spend trying to remember what I was going to say. Along with those caveats, I’m healthy, tall, look like I’m in good shape, have aged well unless it’s too early Saturday morning, funny (well, my kids don’t think I’m funny, but what do they know), intelligent (though what I don’t know I do tend to make up), and generally polite (unless you have pissed me off or my Tourette’s kicks in.)
But here’s the real truth: I am contentedly single, which is why I’ve never enrolled in online dating. But if I did, this profile is what I’d send to Match.com—just for the heck of it—because from what I’ve seen, everyone else on there is lying.