July and I’ve signed up to a 500 a day writing challenge. (these words don’t count). I’m actually using it as an opportunity to recount more of my dating tales of WTF so please check in regularly over the month. To those that have supported my dating journey for years, yes, I know we are tired but we must carry on. We’ll all get there. Let’s go my precious. We can do this, together.
So after a brutal breakup (this means that it was meant to be polite and passive aggressive in a typically first world liberal way but I didn’t follow the rules and told the dude exactly what I thought of him) I was forced back onto Plenty of Freaks by a fear of answering the dreaded question: Why are you still single?
After a while no matter how fabulosity you may be people start to suspect that you may be the one with the problems. Fuck ‘em. I know it’s not me. I have notes from my therapist. It’s them. Don’t let anyone but a trained professional tell you otherwise my precious. They don’t know what we’ve been through.
So I sign up again to POF and do the usual thing of delaying writing my profile. I always intend to sound all simple and modest but it’s so not me that they see through it. So instead, I go for honest but not scathing which is a difficult balance for a romantic cynic.
The pool opens
I sit back and wait…..and then they start coming. Despite my hints about wanting someone likeminded with similar backgrounds and values I get white guys in their 50s from Europe followed strongly by black men lying about their age and single status. One was 43 but didn’t realise that we had met on another site 3-4 years ago and had claimed then to be 43. You don’t forget a black dude that’s into pubs, rugby and watersports that easily. Me and my favourite linens are not the one.
Then there’s the one that connects on the fact that he “hates dishonesty too!” and doesn’t want some long protracted emailing ting. Then he proceeds to only email me after 1am when presumably the wife or girlfriend is tucked up safely in bed. He never suggests we meet and asks if I want to see his dick. I politely decline and tell him O2, my phone carrier, have raised concerns about the number of dick photos I have on my phone when I send them in for fixing. I swear I don’t ask. Dudes are just generous like that.
Preferences and POF International
There’s another one. He contacts me then tells me how he prefers white women. I tell him politely that those photos weren’t taken on holiday and that I’m most definitely black. He seems to find this confusing but boldly tells me that he’s now willing to try black women as he hasn’t been getting very far with the white women on the site and that most of them are crazy and want a relationship. I tell him I want a relationship and that this isn’t a fuck site. I never hear from him again. Phew!
And then, I got Mr POF International. First I blame a nosey friend in the states who wanted to see my profile so I removed the distance restriction. The first thing I notice is that he lives in Minnesota which is the Catfish capital of well, Catfish! He’s not looking to have kids and has the dreaded ‘Some college’. But, I’m being more open. I can’t judge a man by the limitations of a few badly chosen questions on a free website. So I do what I don’t always do and read his profile.
He starts by telling everyone about his relationship with God. That’s great but the inappropriate quotes from the bible are such a terrible cut and paste job I realise that he was just trying to reach the character maximum.
Later he decides to add more about his wants. Basically he wants a slave who doesn’t want children and who is working. So, he’s not really working I take it. Or he’s realised that some women don’t mind supporting men.
I look back at my empty ‘would like to meet you!’ folder and there is an Asian guy with premature balding and an eating disorder. He’s not quite 50 yet though…Things are looking up. Wish me luck, my precious. It’s going to be a long, hard journey.
© Chelsea Black