So, I’m about to call Match.com a bust, right?
I mean, I’m getting nothing, even with the rewritten profile. Zlich. Hardly even a returned e-mail for pity’s sake! Then, suddenly, I’ve spent hours on the phone with someone and I’m promising to call her back tonight, after my walk with Hilda and my weekly chat with the parental units. Never know, do you?
She’s nice. Has her own business making dog biscuits. Has three dogs, but no kids. Older than me by almost two years. Taller than me, not that it matters. Blonde, blue-eyed. Self-sufficient, self-sustaining and self-supporting. In short, nothing at all like my ex-wife. I’m waiting to find out what’s wrong with her, honestly. Must be something there that doesn’t add up, right? I mean, could I have hit a jackpot here?
She said she’s tired of the “players” on Match.com. I laughed. I’m about as un-player as they come. Tragically unhip, disturbingly upfront and with very little left to hide. (Hey, even a priest has a past, kids. Mine just involves two tattoos and an ex-wife.) So, we’ll take it slow and see what happens next.
I expect it not to work out, eventually, but, then, I’ve been a bit of a pessimist lately, haven’t I? Though, realistically, I expect this process of getting out into the dating world will involve a lot of failure before I start to get a little traction. Comes with the territory.