Yes, I had to use that title, yes, I read wearing only panties lying on my bed, pausing to reflect on my aloneness and, yes, the 43YOV caved (for the last time, me hopes) and subscribed to the very hip, much hyped matchmaking service headquartered in San Francisco, the land of free love (at one time). I can’t recall where I read about Tawkify, only that it got good press, it was indeed a matchmaking service (Hi, R! The MM I’ve pinned all my hopes and dreams on, and a decent amount of dough), and I’d had it, I mean, really had it dating my aloneness when I Googled the site.
Oh man, I thought, I have to describe myself and what I want in a mate. Well, duh. So I started typing and suddenly it felt good, easy even, to write about me–the good, the bad, and the, well, that was it, really (never mind that I’d blogged and journaled about myself for ages; something was different). And describing my ideal mate–I never knew I desired so many traits! The minutiae tappity-tap-tapped from the keyboard until I was, at last, spent.
I hit “submit,” saw the price tag “to find me a perfect match,” and am-scrayed. While oodles less than the DC matchmaker for whom I sacrificed precious hours reading You Lost Him at Hello, or whatever the hell it was called, I couldn’t justify the expense…until about five days later when I logged on the site to see that the price had dropped, or had it been my willpower and reason? Whatever the case, I subscribed right then, reminding myself of my poor judgement in the picking of men department, my age, the fact that only a few guys had even looked and/or smiled in my general direction since I’d moved here, and the simple fact that I wanted a boyfriend.
To love and be loved.
Next up…”DEAL BREAKERS.”