Personal Essay – Lessons Learned in Online Dating
I met my husband on Match.com.
Our story has a fun & quirky Hallmark-meets-I-Love-Lucy vibe. But before our encounter, there were some…well interesting circumstances that I feel is my duty to share.
***
Kiss-Kiss-Bang-Bang
Airline Pilot Guy and I met for dinner at a restaurant on the outskirts of Baltimore. Conversation rolled easily, we chatted about benign topics, we laughed a lot, and while I was trying my best not to be too over-zealous as I forked chunks of lemon-coconut cake down my neck, our conversation turned to how the dating scene was coming along for us.
He mentioned that this evening was his 3rd Match.com date.
***
His first date commenced in a coffee shop, mid-morning, on a weekend. He had difficulty finding his date because the photograph that she shared had been taken a couple decades earlier. He was in his 40s, she may have been in her late 60s. As I sipped my coffee and demurely dislodged a rogue flake of coconut from my front teeth, I sat back and enjoyed his monologue.
After he and Cougar introduced themselves and shared a coffee, APG said he spent the next 23 minutes of their date masterminding his exit strategy. Their meet-up was wrought with awkwardness; she was quite handsy and lascivious and not so subtle about it.
I loved this story. While I wasn’t crazy about her “false advertising” tactic and her attempt to undress a stranger in public, I have no issues regarding age gaps. If two people care about one another, does it matter their ages? Or is this more of a society problem and how it may be perceived by friends, family, neighbors? My perspective: if two people care about one another, game on, do what is right for yourself and your partner. Note: Airline Pilot Guy wasn’t necessarily in agreement with me on this.
His second date (with another Match.com participant) didn’t take place. He and Invisible Girl had arranged to meet for dinner. He showed up. She didn’t. He tried contacting her, but no answer. A couple of days later she called him to apologize. Her alibi made total sense. She had been arrested and had just been sprung from jail.
As the waiter poured my second cup of coffee, Airline Pilot Guy leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and said, “and you are my third Match.com date. Tell me about your experiences.”
I dabbed a napkin at my mouth, feeling confident that my teeth were cake-free.
“I’m new to online dating, in fact, this is my first Match.com date, I’ll have to fill you in on how it goes later.” I then added, “Hey, would you mind sharing the contact information for your first two dates? I want to send them each a thank you note for making this evening appear uber-normal.”
Lesson learned: Sometimes it’s not you. It’s them.
***
Ready, Fire, Aim
Ok, I’m going to brag a bit here. I’m a highly emotionally intelligent individual. I didn’t say highly intelligent (I’m not), but the mask of humility comes off when it pertains to how I care about others’ feelings, thoughts, and I’m intuitive when it comes to reading a room and personalities.
When I first ventured into online dating, I felt compelled to reply to EVERYONE that reached out to me. Even if I didn’t see a shred of compatibility or if they had unsavory qualities (ex. a deal-breaker for me would be someone that didn’t like animals, dogs in particular. I had a 70-pound Golden Retriever that would be part of the relationship), I still responded with something positive, but a firm no.
I felt that if someone took the time to reach out, I would respond.
This backfired more than once.
But the most memorable one occurred with someone that had many photos showing off his face-painting and belly-painting prowess. He was an artist! I appreciate people that enjoy the arts or sports, either as a participant or as a fan. He was both! He appeared to have a lot of friends – that’s a good sign. He was athletic, I could tell from the images of beer pong, Flip Cup, and the impressive way he contorted his body to imbibe on an ornate vodka luge. I’m guessing he may have had some gymnastics experience in his background. He seemed like an interesting person, yet despite his colorful photo gallery and his narrative, I was curious if he had read any of my bio.
I emailed Face Painter a message, thanking him for reaching out. I provided a couple honest compliments and let him know that I didn’t feel that our lifestyles were compatible. I kept it brief, upbeat, and relayed my genuine appreciation. I concluded with something like, “I hope you find someone very special”.
Oh boy.
Hell hath no fury like a Face Painter scorned.
Shortly after I pressed <send>, I received a scathing message that I was a <insert bad word here>, that all women are <insert a string of naughty words that made me blush here>, along with vibrant proclamations of what a nincompoop I must be.
Lesson learned. Sometimes it’s best to keep some things to yourself.
***
Catch Me If You Can
Construction Worker Guy lived 3.5 states away, but with my frequent flyer miles and the fact that we both had Golden Retrievers, our long-distance relationship worked out relatively smoothly. Well, until I started noticing his proclivity for not being monogamous. Like the time a woman wearing stiletto heels popped by and let herself in his back door. He pretended she worked for Amazon and was just dropping off a package. In his kitchen. But she had the wrong house.
Yes, this is how the story jumbled out of his mouth, in regurgitated chunks, him making it up as he went.
I had been upstairs and had wandered down to take his faithful Golden Retriever for a walk. All I saw was the flirty fast-stepping long legs as he shooshed her to her car. She seemed like a very friendly delivery driver. Impeccably dressed for a Saturday morning.
***
One of my girlfriends also happened to be active on the same dating site. Construction Worker Guy sent her an online wink. He had set up a new profile using photos that I had taken of him. I laughed out loud (it was the wine laughing) when I recognized part of my arm in one of his photos. I’d know that arm anywhere. The rest of my body had been skillfully removed from the photo with surgical precision.
Lesson learned: Amazon has several taglines, some of my favorites:
- “Instant gratification, just a click away”. (Perhaps stiletto clicks)
- “Prime delivery, lightning fast”.
- “Prime convenience, delivered to your door”.
Note: I’m a HUGE Amazon fan. My tagline is: if I can’t buy it on Amazon, I don’t need it.
***
And here is my one of my favorite gawd-I’m-so-glad-I’m-not-dating-anymore stories. I love-love-love the anonymous couple at the end.
Brew Ha-Ha
On Tuesday evenings I would drive from Baltimore to Beltsville to have dinner with my mom and my brother. I arranged to meet someone at a coffee shop close to my mom’s home one evening. I figured we’d meet, have coffee, and then I’d spend the rest of the evening with my family.
When I arrived, my date was already seated. Let’s call him Freelancer. I asked Freelancer if he wanted anything, he shook his head no, while fastidiously keeping his eyes glued to his straw as he inhaled his frothy vente white chocolate caramel bam-bam macchiato vanilla latte shaken-not-stirred beverage that resembled Mt Kangchenjunga.
The coffee shop wasn’t busy. I waited at the counter, occasionally glancing towards the vicinity of Freelancer. There were never any cringy eye contact moments where one of us awkwardly caught the others’ glance. Freelancer was quite attentive to his Himalayan doppelganger.
With a freshly roasted coffee in hand, I joined Freelancer at the table. His straw loudly protested as he attempted to suction out the cardboard bottom of his cup.
Freelancer was a strong conversationalist with strong opinions. I heard all about his childhood, his teenage years, his dating history. He told me who he follows on TikTok, the types of music he enjoys, and his favorite movies. He told me what is wrong with America today and society in general.
I’ve been told I’m a very good listener, I think Freelancer would agree.
I interjected when he paused to take a breath. He had mentioned that he had played baseball in high school. I told him that I played on a softball team with a group of men and women, I asked if he had ever played a co-ed sport. He didn’t think he’d enjoy that dynamic, he felt that a team with a bunch of girls on it wouldn’t be very competitive.
He flipped the conversation back to what he does for a living. Nothing. He had been laid off and was collecting unemployment; he was going to ride it out for as long as he could. He had figured out how long he’d be able to ‘live the dream’ before he’d be forced to take up gainful employment again.
When I nicknamed him Freelancer, I had embellished.
About this time, I was out of coffee and out of ideas of why we should keep this conversation going.
I noticed a man and a woman seated at a table behind Freelancer. They appeared to be in their early 30s and were within earshot of our conversation. The couple was leaning in towards one another, as if they were whispering secrets, but their faces were turned towards me. The three of us locked eyes for a moment without Freelancer noticing. They both slowly shook their heads.
Lesson learned: “Nonverbal communication is an elaborate secret code that is written nowhere, known by none, and understood by all.”[1]
[1] Edward Sapir
