I’ve got Matchitis. Symptoms: extreme frustration, onset of clinical depression, self-esteem headed into the toilet, questioning of one’s sanity (i.e. why in the world am I doing this?) – juxtaposed to moments of excitement and anticipation over finding a prospect who actually seems relationship-able. That is, if he doesn’t fall off the face of the earth after several long email interchanges, or even a couple of dates. Oh yes, it’s a love/hate relationship with internet dating. OK, really it’s mostly hate. You know what I’m talking about: How many “I want to cuddle in front of the fire with you” or “Let’s walk on the beach holding hands” or pictures of his dog/cat, grandchild/grandniece, or college/military graduation do I have to endure before I throw up my hands (or throw up, period!), shouting, “Blaaaaah! Get me out of here.” Actually, the number is about 5. I can only speak from the female perspective, but I’ve never seen snapshots of so many men who are 59 years old (remember being 39 eternally? … you get the drift) and “fit and trim”. It’s a reverse miracle when I witness the weight and age they have gained over only several days when I meet them. As my own 33 year old daughter advised me, “This will be the single most depressing thing you ever do, Mom.” Out of the mouths of babes, prophetic words of wisdom.
Nonetheless, there are not a lot of options (if you know of any, let me know). I’m sure you men out there have your own set of aggravations. In all fairness to the opposite sex, perhaps we all need to pay attention, here.
Tomorrow, let’s make up some rules, OK? How about some radical concepts like honesty, integrity, good manners, and reality checks? Stay tuned. Let me know your thoughts. Contact me.
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