Love@AOL

 

 

 

 

I have read the book by John Gray, Men are from Mars, and Women are

from Venus.  I liked it.  It made sense.  I have been thinking about the whole man/woman phenomenon.  Lots of good has been done to increase the growing autonomous status of women over the decades, but I think being independent and equal has its fallbacks.  Take dating, for example.  Before women’s lib, the man was expected to call the lady for a date. Today, however, women shy away from such old-fashioned etiquette.  They have some distorted opinion about a man who likes to call for a date at the beginning of the week, or enjoys pulling out the chair in a restaurant so she can be seated with ease. That self-governing woman sees these actions as threats to her individual freedom.  Not me.  I like it when a man opens my car door, pays for dinner, and treats my like a princess.  I want Romeo singing sonnets to me on a summer’s day.  My problem was finding Romeo.

            I tried every angle the magazines and self-help books presented.  I attended singles parties, bars, interest activities and events, but the results were same as I went home exhausted and feeling empty.    Finally, I took broad measures and registered with an internet dating service.  I chose Love@AOL because it claimed to have the most men and largest percentage of matches ending in marriage.  In order to find Mr. Right, I had to fill out a profile which wanted to know what size, shape, physical stature, income, religion, sexual preference, hobbies, philosophy and music I wanted my special man to have and enjoy.  And I had to write an essay about how he fits into my idea of living happily ever after.  Whew!  That took about an hour or so which was shorter than the time I use to determine a new hairstyle, but longer than my deliberations over what to wear on a Saturday night.  

            Once registered I was on my way to finding him and I was hot!   I responded to fifteen ads written by educated rich men, and got rejected by fifteen rich men who were educated.  I switched my sales pitch, lowered my marketing standards, responded to any man with any background and, guess what!  The responses poured in.

            Most men preferred seeing what I looked like before continuing a correspondence, as if looking like Angelina Jolie would make a difference.  Although I did not have a picture, I did connect with one gentleman.   We went to dinner and enjoyed a pleasant conversation until the subject turned to current events.   My date filibustered for twenty-five minutes on economic conditions in American society.  At the end, he went home feeling satisfied that another liberal had been silenced, while I drove away wondering what new listings were on Love@AOL.

            I found gem #2 when I selected, mistakenly, the number 38, instead of 58, as an ideal age for dating.   When I met him at an upscale bar in a chic part of the city, I fell in love.

            Now here’s a man who knows how to impress a lady.  We sipped Chardonnay and spoke for hours on topics only Pulitzer Prize winning novels covered.  I did not hear the music as the piano bar filled with the late night crowd.  I was infatuated with this energetic, handsome, romantic man.  He was perfect.     The kind of perfect I’d want my daughter to marry, which, with that kind of thinking, killed my thoughts for a romantic evening’s end.

            Undaunted, I continued my search on the Internet, looking high and low for Romeo.  As time went on, the pickings lessened.  I learned that, as a newcomer on an Internet dating service, I was quite popular with the regulars.  Once the novelty wore off, I was less impressed with the remaining choices. Seemingly, so were the men.  The 50 or so letters I received at the beginning of my search dwindled to zero by the end of the second month.  I became a dating statistic.  Romeo!  Where art thou?

            Am I looking for love in the wrong place?   I don’t think so.   There really is no right place.   Perhaps John Gray is right when he claims men and women live ondifferent planets.  I think I’ll advertise on Jupiter, maybe Romeo will answer.