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A man I know of 22, halfway to a medical degree, is pursuing ballet dreams in New York City. You’re not dream-greedy to want, say, a cool career and a mate.
Some people my age — extreme middle-age — train for marathons, or paddle down the Amazon, skydive, or adopt. And having realized this one long-shot dream with my grown child gave me the confidence to try something even harder: to date.
She claims the site promotes an illusion that it is facilitating healthy long-term relationships. No one is going to argue what this woman went through isn’t horrendous, terrifying and tragic. A study came out recently that said experts agreed the “stigma” of online dating was over. But between this story and last week’s story on Manti Te’o, I am sure a lot of ignorant people have solidified some opinions against using online dating, afraid of the reality of who it is they are meeting. Don’t let this lure you into a false feeling of security. I am not saying a bar is a bad place to meet someone.
Could these ladies possibly be right, that being an attractive single girl on a dating site is not all it’s cracked up to be?
Internet dating is pretty much made for the ladies, right?
All you’ve got to do is throw up a couple of pictures, string together a few sentences that aren’t totally cliche, and wait for the emails to come rolling in. And to a certain extent, I still do insist that is right. Then the women decide whether they will write the men back, and the men sit and contemplate. But I’ve asked women how they feel about this, and they beg to differ. Too many emails, they say, is far more burden than boon. And some insist, and these are very attractive women, mind you, that they don’t actually get as many messages as we lads might think. I mean, I’ve dated them, so you know they must be prettttty foxy.
I really do, insofar as that is possible in this vale of tears — a cherished family, a grandchild, church, career, sobriety, two dogs, daily hikes, naps, perfect friends.
But sometimes I am lonely for a partner, a soul mate, a husband. I rarely missed sex: I had tiny boundary issues in all those years of drinking, and by my early 20s I had used up my lifelong allotment. I do love what Wodehouse called the old oompus-boompus when it happens to be in progress, but wouldn’t go out of my way.