Two seventy-something women are standing in a checkout line concluding what looks to be their weekly grocery run. As they place their items on the belt they discuss the weather, the holidays, grandchildren, the typical things you hear women this age talk about. Until one turns to the other and says, “You know, those younger men just won’t leave me alone online.”
After I picked my jaw up off the floor I started eavesdropping shamelessly.
“I know,” Blue Hair #2 replies, “they email on match.com all the time. I’m just not interested if they’re more than five years younger.”
The grandmas went on to discuss their dates from the previous weekend. One was apparently a great dancer but totally boring otherwise and not the best kisser. The other was a bit “too friendly” but good looking and had all his hair.
I felt like I assume Wyle E. Coyote must whenever the Roadrunner drops an anvil on his head. It was like sitting in on the taping of an episode of ‘The Golden Girls’ except every character was Blanche.
At first it was funny. Who doesn’t want to be Blanche when they get older?
By the time I was bagging my own items it was a little less so. Mostly because my own online dating experience was not so positive. When I can say this in relation to the online dating lives of two women who personally remember the Great Depression that’s just, well, depressing.
A little over a year ago a well-meaning friend signed me up on eHarmony. I kind of felt I could handle finding my own dates personally but she didn’t have the same faith in me. Since she’d signed me up for six months I gave it a try.
It seems that the formula used by the experts at eHarmony doesn’t work so well for me. Admittedly, my standards aren’t what they used to be. However there are a few still in effect. Decent grammar and IQ are among them.
According to their much-touted matching algorithm eHarmony thinks I’m supposed to be with a biker, trucker, bodybuilder or NASCAR fanatic.
Before I date any of these types I’ll convert to Catholicism, put on a wimple and become a nun.
Prior to getting a firsthand peek into the lives of the local retired set, I assumed my matches had been based on the sad fact that the men in my area are more likely to read Dr. Seuss than Shakespeare. While I still think that’s a major part of the problem, I’m forced to conclude that a 75-year-old woman who wears diapers has more decent dating options than I do.
On the upside, converting can’t be too difficult and wearing a wimple will hide all those bad hair days.