Dont Mince Words

I’m an optimist, right? I have to be given I’ve been internet dating for 20 years. But if something is too good to be true, it probably is. Right?

Ralph was a good match according to OKCupid. And he was my type of guy – cut to the chase and don’t waste time. We exchanged a few messages, talked on the phone, and three days later we had a date. A good date. It had been a long time since I’ve met for a drink and four hours later I actually wanted to still talk to someone.

During the next few weeks, I learned more about Ralph. He was 44 and didn’t want kids so he had a vasectomy. Never married. He went to one of those private west end schools and grew up on an estate on the river. He was attentive and communicative and eager to book dates. My girlfriends were cautiously optimistic for me. “The mask will come off. There has to be something wrong with him,” I explained.

You learn a lot about a man by the company he keeps and by the way he lives. I jumped at the opportunity to come over to Ralph’s house for dinner. When I drove up , I hummed the theme from Dallas as I passed the front gate houses then rounded the corner to see Southfork. It was a large house, but not what you’d expect a single guy to choose to live in, monied or not.

When I went in, I was shuffled to the sun room where his friend was. Ralph went back to the kitchen to finish the food. I surveyed the scene and in seconds figured out I was in the House of Mom. Gardening books. Bird feeders. Stacks of catalogs. Stamps. Envelopes. The other shoe had dropped.

I learned he lived in the basement; his best friend was in the chef quarters. His mom is a smart woman. If I were in my 70s, I’d love to have two men around to help me. But not my son. The boy needs to go learn to fly on his own. Be his own man.

I gave Ralph the soft let down by phone and casually mentioned living with his mother was going to hurt his long term relationship prospects.  “I know,” he mumbled.

This is funny because my OKCupid profile has a line that states, “You should contact me if you are an emotionally evolved male who doesn’t live with his mother.” I added this when I lived in Los Angeles. The recession forced a lot of people to move home. Ralph didn’t get to the bottom of my profile. He’s also dyslexic.

When the Tinder app launched, I was living in Santa Barbara where the dating population was either college-age or retirement age. I didn’t see the point. Imagine my surprise when a girlfriend visiting from Florida admitted she met her long-term boyfriend there.

“You have to get on it,” she said.

I still subscribe to the belief that dating is hard all over. I don’t care if you are in Los Angeles, Kansas City, or Richmond. You hit a certain age and, statistically speaking, there’s not a lot of good stuff out there. But whatever, I signed up for Tinder as another social experiment.

During the last two weeks, I’ve been matched with 11 guys within an 18-mile radius and five contacted me.

• 3 started a conversation, I responded and haven’t heard from them since
• 1 was moving to Richmond soon
• 1 asked if I was naked

So much for a killer app. The experience is the same as if it were 1996 and I was in an AOL chat room. You have to weed out the boring to find the interesting people.

I’m still waiting.

The question of children has come up a couple times in the last week.  I’ve been internet dating for almost 20 years. Finding a partner is hard enough; however, add offspring into the mix?  Kids are a huge responsibility and I like being carefree and, ah, irresponsible.

An unmarried friend from college in his 50’s asked me over lunch if I had any regret not having children.  He is still contemplating kids while dating a younger woman.  Without hesitation I replied, “No. When my girlfriends with kids envy my lifestyle, I know I made the right decision.”

Several days later a girlfriend and I were leaving a restaurant and two 50-something men at the bar stopped us to chat.  After names were exchanged, the next question from the panty-melting accented Irishman was “Do you have kids?”  I responded, “No, I have a 70 pound dog instead.”  He smiled and said I was very lucky.

I was sure I wasn’t ready to have kids in my 20’s.  My 30’s were consumed with my career.  Now I’m career-worn and older and happy with my decision to be Cool Aunt Marna and Miss Marna to my friends’ kids.  They all think I’m funny and as my nephew said “Aunt Marna isn’t like a normal adult is she?”

No, I’m childless by choice.  No regrets and a lot of fun along the way.

SAM TEXTS DRUNK BUT COOL AUNT MARNA