Sooooo, I feel like I've resolved the issues I had about online dating. I figure we’re just as likely to find that perfect someone on here as we are in a bar or in the produce section in the supermarket (admit it, in the past, you've all conspicuously picked up an exotic looking vegetable and put it into your shopping cart just to impress a hottie squeezing a cucumber next to you…What?? You haven’t?? oh! ahem.. anybody who knows what to do with a friggin’ radicchio, please email me, asap!)
So, online dating is ok. However, I do have a nagging questions: where the hell is that bow-and-arrow toting, flying God-of-love-son-of-Venus cherub known as CUPID? Did he get fat and lazy? And in that fatness and laziness did he get his I.T. department to make a webpage for us to do the searching and matching for ourselves? Hmph. WELL, let’s pretend that online dating is just as good as the old-fashioned way of meeting someone. I know you think OKC is seedy, cheap, and has a faint whiff of desperation, but let's humour ourselves. Let's pretend the real Cupid is still out there doing his job and that it’s still possible to find those inexplicably ecstatic feelings about another person irrespective of where or how you met.
How should we go about this? Well, we start off by flirting a bit on OKC. You’ll tell me a bit about how much you love your career, and I’ll let you know that I’ve never been married and that I don’t have any children, to put your mind at ease, and then I'd say something funny. Maybe you’ll laugh a bit. A giggle. Enough for you to think you’d like to meet me for some pretentious coffee at some yuppie coffee joint where we’ll both assess whether the pictures we sent each other look anything like us. We’d stay there for a while chatting, long after our overpriced, unfair-trade coffee was finished, but then feel compelled to buy some more to stop the barista behind the counter from casting irritated glances our way (and also, to further frustrate those anxious customers stalking our cushy armchairs). We’d finish, and go our separate ways, both of us wondering if he or she actually enjoyed themselves. Then, maybe we’d meet again. Or not.
All of this, I might add, without me ever having sent you a picture of myself standing bare-chested in front of the bathroom mirror… or even one of my junk. Chivalry lives!
THIS is how we get over being snubbed by Cupid. Denial! It's not a sure thing -- as such, you should send me an email just to be sure.