Internet dating is probably one of the most interesting social revolutions we've witnessed. Certainly in the dating world, the advent of the online matchmaker has turned blind dating from a random act of faith and human kindness to a very focused, studied, formal act of guided navigation. To do it well, one needs fine-tuned skills, both in the way one projects oneself in a profile and in the way one sifts through the dozens of inappropriate potential suitors to find those who wouldn't constitute a complete waste of time. The term 'searching for a needle in a haystack' has never been more appropriate than in cyber(dating)space, except that in this case the 'needle' is constantly on the move, looking for a find of its own. The fact that Internet dating EVER succeeds is really a miracle, when you think about it.
Yet it does succeed. One of my best friends met and married the love of her life through the Internet, and I hold them to blame for the many years I persevered in my own quest for love via computer. If it worked for people I know, surely it could work for me too?
The issue with Internet dating is that there are thousands of people 'playing the game' simultaneously, all the time. That makes the need for quick decision making an imperative – nobody has time for three or four dates before they decide whether to become a couple or not; not when they know they can go home and find one of 20,000+ eligibles just waiting to wink, nudge or shoot them with cupid's arrow. So meeting someone from the Internet has an unsaid rule that by the end of the first date you have to be in deep infatuation if you're going to see one another again.
I remember one particular date that seemed to go very well right until the end. He was a busy lawyer who lived near the ocean, and we met for a walk on the beach near his home one evening. It was a busy beach and I was comfortable with his company. The date was fun, he had a good sense of humor and we seemed to have quite a lot in common. Had friends fixed us up I would have given them bonus points for the good match, and in this case I felt like I had finally navigated well through the dating site I was on at the time. At the end of the date, we came up from the beach with sand up to our knees, and when he took my hand to help me up over the rocks we'd sat on, he didn't let go. But when he asked whether I would like to wash my feet off at his apartment, I felt like agreeing could give him mixed messages, and thanked him but declined his offer. I had a towel in my car and preferred the idea of going home sandy than going to his home at all. It was at that point that he told me that he would not be calling me again. I was really surprised – we'd had a nice time, we seemed to get on very well, yet when I turned down an offer to wash my feet at him house, he was put off? I asked him straight out what made him so sure we shouldn't meet again (another side effect of cyber dating, where you allow yourself to be as frank and direct as you like, since you know there is no way you'll meet your date again). He also gave me a very direct response: that he was not prepared to invest time and effort in dating someone if he hadn't checked out the chemistry in bed yet. It seemed like a true waste of resources to woo someone and find out too late that the intimate side of the relationship required work, so he preferred to 'nip the courting in the bud' as it were, rather than take a chance on bad bedding. When I recovered from my shock and gave this some thought, I realized that this was just another characteristic of the cyber dater – the need to condense weeks or months of relationships into the smallest amount of time to ensure your return on investment in the dating site was worthwhile. Makes me think we should call it 'microwave dating' instead.
Yet another feature of cyberdating that bears mentioning is cyber-amnesia: The forgetfulness of the serial dater who approaches the same person time after time, with no recollection of having made a move previously. One of my friends who's a guru of online dating told me he has a very specific technique – he makes dating a project, whereby at the beginning of the month he sends the same general email to 30 or 40 women on a site, without looking at their criteria at all, and then he waits for responses. He takes the profiles of all the women who respond and only then does he take the time to look at their profiles and see whether they are interesting or not. So for those women out there who have been contacted by someone who caught your eye, yet didn't hear back when you responded to their contact, that could be the reason you've been looking for.
I also had to learn not to take things personally when I was dating on the web, otherwise the exercise could turn into an ego-bashing episode of note. One guy corresponded with me for weeks, seemed to be very interested, yet when he asked me to send a photograph he quickly responded that I was not his type and that I'd not be hearing from him again. Since we'd never even met, I didn't take it personally, I simply expected just that: to never hear from him again. And if nothing else, the incident got me to post my photograph on the site for all to see, just to avoid a similar incident in the future. Much to my amusement, he did contact me again, using the same witty first email he'd caught my attention with months before. He'd forgotten we'd been in touch, and he also seemed to have forgotten that I was not his type, since my photograph was now available for him to see and he'd approached me anyway. I replied to his email by copying and pasting his response to me from months before, and that seemed to really do the trick – this time, I really did not hear from him again.
Even more extreme was the guy I actually MET a couple of times, went on some mediocre dates with, before making a mutual decision not to pursue a relationship with one another. Within 6 months he had contacted me twice more, on two different sites, with absolutely no recollection of having contacted me or met me previously. It made me wonder if he's actually dated so many women he couldn't keep track any more.
The moral of the story? That may be as elusive as the cyber dating industry itself. I would say keep things in proportion, don't take rejection to heart, meet in public places, and most importantly, have an escape route in mind. After all, if your next date doesn't work out, there are still 16,378 more singles online right now….
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Caught (almost) in the act
This story usually comes up in conversation when I've had one-too-many drinks or am spurred on by one-too-many friends who enjoy basking in my humiliation. It is a classic response to the 'most embarrassing story' subject that inevitably comes up at the end of a good party, and its subject matter is essential for any dating diary. The topic is 'dating at the office', and the event took place a number of years ago but nevertheless remains relevant to this day. That is my subtle way of making it clear to the people I work with (who read this blog) that this incident did NOT take place at my current place of employment and that they do NOT potentially share an office with my partner in crime.
So, 'the incident' took place a number of years ago when I worked in a fairly small company that had offices in a very large, high-rise building. I had worked closely with a certain male (single) colleague for a number of months, and was aware of some underlying sexual tension that could not be expressed, as we worked together and I am far too professional to consider a liaison with a co-worker. However, when he took a new position in the organization that no longer required any professional interaction with me, my stoic principles took a bit of a backslide and I found myself wondering how long we would have to wait before acting on the obvious attraction. On the one hand, the workplace is the workplace and one should not mix business and pleasure. On the other hand, chemistry is chemistry and there is only so long one can delay the inevitable.
The problem became more pressing when we met for an informal drink one day and acknowledged that the attraction was mutual. It was clear that we both wanted some 'one-on-one' time, but as we discussed the logistics of our 'get-together' we realized that finding a private location would not be as easy as one would imagine. Between us, we both had family staying at our apartments for the next month, following which one of the two of us would be traveling overseas for at least the following six weeks. So when we did the maths, we realized it would be up to 8 weeks before we could create any 'alone time'. And we were certainly not going to start 'dating' publicly when we worked in the same company and wanted our private lives to stay that way.
After some serious contemplation and some very flirty emails, we came to the conclusion one afternoon that it would not be worth waiting the required two months to get together without at the very least testing that our basic assumption was correct. What had to happen was that we had to find just a few minutes alone where we could check out the chemistry and make sure it was not a false call.
He knew a private location in the very tall building we worked in (I didn't ask how; some things are better left unsaid…). He took me up to one of the upper floors, with access only to the elevator entrance and the stairwell. It was impossible to enter the rest of the building from that zone, which ensured very little passing traffic and a perfect place for a first kiss. He led me to the stairwell on the 26th floor, we enjoyed our first kiss, and after ten minutes or so we decided it was time to make our way back to our office. Needless to say, we both looked slightly flustered while waiting for the elevator to arrive and take us back to real life, and we straightened up and shared a little giggle in the interim.
Imagine our surprise, then, when the elevator opened and two security guards came out and insisted that we present identification. I blushed like a tomato on a summer's day, and from the side of my eye I noticed that he, too, was a bright shade of red. He did ask the guards what the problem was, and they informed us that an alarm had been activated on the floor and they needed to check that we had not tried to access a high-security area in the building. Of course, we couldn't come out and declare what WE were doing there, so we must have looked like ideal suspects for breaking and entering. Just my luck, 30 floors to choose from and 30 years of playing it safe, yet on the day I decide to do something slightly daring, we got for the wrong location and I end up in a high-security zone being scrutinized by the authorities.
Luckily, my 'friend' knew a few of the people who worked in the security team, and when the guards asked us to accompany them to their main office in the basement of the building, he managed to convince them that I should be permitted to return to my own office and he would go wherever they needed him to. I returned to my office in full blush, mortified at being almost caught by security snogging in the lift shaft, and wondering how I would get into the building in the future without having to face the witnesses of my humiliation.
Close to an hour later, I got a call from 'Mr Kiss', to inform me that the inquisition was over and he'd been released on his own recognizance. He also informed me that he had good news and bad news to share regarding 'the incident'. The good news? We were off the hook and security knew we had not tried to break into any area at all in the area.
The bad news was HOW they knew. Since a high-security zone will not rely on alarms and sensors alone, the entire floor had been fitted with closed-circuit television, and the entire security team had both watched and recorded our 'chemistry test', only to re-play it with my not-to-be-next-boyfriend. To this day I check You Tube regularly to ensure nobody posted any evidence of my misdeed.
So, 'the incident' took place a number of years ago when I worked in a fairly small company that had offices in a very large, high-rise building. I had worked closely with a certain male (single) colleague for a number of months, and was aware of some underlying sexual tension that could not be expressed, as we worked together and I am far too professional to consider a liaison with a co-worker. However, when he took a new position in the organization that no longer required any professional interaction with me, my stoic principles took a bit of a backslide and I found myself wondering how long we would have to wait before acting on the obvious attraction. On the one hand, the workplace is the workplace and one should not mix business and pleasure. On the other hand, chemistry is chemistry and there is only so long one can delay the inevitable.
The problem became more pressing when we met for an informal drink one day and acknowledged that the attraction was mutual. It was clear that we both wanted some 'one-on-one' time, but as we discussed the logistics of our 'get-together' we realized that finding a private location would not be as easy as one would imagine. Between us, we both had family staying at our apartments for the next month, following which one of the two of us would be traveling overseas for at least the following six weeks. So when we did the maths, we realized it would be up to 8 weeks before we could create any 'alone time'. And we were certainly not going to start 'dating' publicly when we worked in the same company and wanted our private lives to stay that way.
After some serious contemplation and some very flirty emails, we came to the conclusion one afternoon that it would not be worth waiting the required two months to get together without at the very least testing that our basic assumption was correct. What had to happen was that we had to find just a few minutes alone where we could check out the chemistry and make sure it was not a false call.
He knew a private location in the very tall building we worked in (I didn't ask how; some things are better left unsaid…). He took me up to one of the upper floors, with access only to the elevator entrance and the stairwell. It was impossible to enter the rest of the building from that zone, which ensured very little passing traffic and a perfect place for a first kiss. He led me to the stairwell on the 26th floor, we enjoyed our first kiss, and after ten minutes or so we decided it was time to make our way back to our office. Needless to say, we both looked slightly flustered while waiting for the elevator to arrive and take us back to real life, and we straightened up and shared a little giggle in the interim.
Imagine our surprise, then, when the elevator opened and two security guards came out and insisted that we present identification. I blushed like a tomato on a summer's day, and from the side of my eye I noticed that he, too, was a bright shade of red. He did ask the guards what the problem was, and they informed us that an alarm had been activated on the floor and they needed to check that we had not tried to access a high-security area in the building. Of course, we couldn't come out and declare what WE were doing there, so we must have looked like ideal suspects for breaking and entering. Just my luck, 30 floors to choose from and 30 years of playing it safe, yet on the day I decide to do something slightly daring, we got for the wrong location and I end up in a high-security zone being scrutinized by the authorities.
Luckily, my 'friend' knew a few of the people who worked in the security team, and when the guards asked us to accompany them to their main office in the basement of the building, he managed to convince them that I should be permitted to return to my own office and he would go wherever they needed him to. I returned to my office in full blush, mortified at being almost caught by security snogging in the lift shaft, and wondering how I would get into the building in the future without having to face the witnesses of my humiliation.
Close to an hour later, I got a call from 'Mr Kiss', to inform me that the inquisition was over and he'd been released on his own recognizance. He also informed me that he had good news and bad news to share regarding 'the incident'. The good news? We were off the hook and security knew we had not tried to break into any area at all in the area.
The bad news was HOW they knew. Since a high-security zone will not rely on alarms and sensors alone, the entire floor had been fitted with closed-circuit television, and the entire security team had both watched and recorded our 'chemistry test', only to re-play it with my not-to-be-next-boyfriend. To this day I check You Tube regularly to ensure nobody posted any evidence of my misdeed.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
When a bad date would be better than no date at all
I have been a bridesmaid at more weddings than I care to remember. Following the obligatory role that had to be performed at my siblings' weddings, there ensued wedding after wedding of friends and cousins who all insisted they couldn't possibly get married without me walking behind them down the aisle. At first, I thought they might all be asking me just because I look spectacular dressed up as a meringue. But it didn't take long before I realized the happy couples thought THEY were doing ME a favor – somehow they seemed to think that by including me in their retinue, attention might be deflected from the fact that I was the one person at the wedding without a date. It made me think that any date at all might be better than NO date at a wedding.
The issue became particularly obvious when I started to refuse to dress up in taffeta at weddings. I was faced with ultimatums by the bridal pair: either I could be master of ceremonies, or I could be fixed up with one of the other singles. But there was no way I could come to the wedding dateless without playing an official role: where would they possibly seat me? And then, of course, there is the humiliation that matches no other: the concussion that can be incurred when the bride makes no bones about aiming the bridal bouquet directly at your head.
One wedding in particular comes to mind when I think of occasions where I'd rather have gone with any date at all than with no date to a wedding. The wedding couple was a favorite – a cousin I adore and her childhood sweetheart, who had a love story their children will write about and a wedding I wouldn't have missed for the world. I flew overseas to be there, and agreed to walk down the aisle in a beige crimplene number, flanked by two stick figures, and feelings of dread shrouding the experience for the weeks running up to the event.
What I had not counted on was the run-up events before the wedding. When busy with dress fittings, hair trials and experimental makeup rehearsals, one tends to forget about the other fun and games that adorn the traditional wedding ceremony. But in this case, I was not to be let off the hook. My cousin called to ensure that I would come to town a couple of days early for her 'hen party'. I agreed, of course, and then called my married friends to ask what a hen party was. The explanation I got sounded like a lot more fun than I anticipated having at the wedding itself. A hen party, according to my sources, is a female version of a bachelor party. You dress the bride-to-be up in embarrassing attire, everyone gets drunk and then you embarrass her with public displays of raunchy lingerie and gifts in the form of sex toys. And as this was a party for girls only, it would be the one occasion where not having a date for the wedding would be a non-issue. I couldn't wait.
Since I came straight from the airport and had no time to get anything particularly 'naughty', I was forced to resort to the lowest form of erotic souvenir – to my relief, I found a pornographic novel at the airport bookstore that looked like it could make even the class slut blush. I couldn't be sure, as the book had been tightly wrapped in cellophane to ward off perverts looking for a free thrill, but I figured if it was dirty enough for cellophane, it would certainly be dirty enough to make my cousin flush at her hen party, and I bought the book while avoiding eye contact with the shop clerk lest she think I was buying the smut for myself.
My biggest joy was that my cousin had elected to go for a fun bachelorette do, rather than the more traditional kitchen tea that usually precedes weddings of my generation. The thought of having to sit through an evening of tea and oven gloves left me cold, but a night of drinking and raucous behavior was something I could definitely get into. I admit I felt just slightly uncomfortable when we arrived at the venue and I found myself seated between my aunt and her mother – I couldn't help but wonder how they would react to the sexy undies and dirty toys that were likely to be unveiled during the evening. But I decided not to make that my concern, and got busy looking for alcohol to start the evening off on a good note.
Before long, I realized the first game of the night was underway, and was pretty horrified to realize that once again, my lack of date was going to be held against me. All the attendees recanted, one by one, how they had met their life partners and when they had tied the knot (or at least, when they were intending to). In a cruel game of odd-man-out, I realized that other than the widowed granny, I was to be the only dateless representative of my cousin's close circle of friends. So when it came to my turn to tell 'my story', I could either tell everyone I was a bridesmaid to compensate for being still single, or I could change the topic. I chose the latter, and suggested we get going with the gift opening ceremony.
Everyone responded enthusiastically, and I started to giggle at the thought of how my gift would make my cousin cringe. As the girl sitting next to my cousin volunteered to be the first to present her with her gift, everyone told her that she had to guess what was in the long box. I actually wanted the earth to swallow me up whole – here it was obvious the box contained what must be the biggest vibrator my cousin would ever lay her eyes on, and I was going to witness her mother and grandmother's exposure to the joystick. I almost wanted to distract them so they wouldn't notice. I was so focused on how embarrassing this would be for them, that I didn't pay attention to the gift opening, until I hear my cousin's gasp of joy as she uncovered the big box and revealed nothing less than a big, electric, hand mixer.
And I realized that I'd been had. This was no hen party, but rather a good old-fashioned kitchen tea in the guise of a bachelorette party. And there I was, the sole representative of single women everywhere, toting a pornographic novel at a conservative congregation. Thank G-d it was wrapped – by the time it came to my turn, I simply raised the book in the air, announced it was the latest and greatest recipe book that was all the rage, and handed it over to my cousin while whispering in her ear that if she opened it in this forum she wouldn't live to see her wedding day.
It was several years later that I told her the true story of what was in the book I reclaimed as soon as the gift ceremony was over. And while I couldn't get out of weddings all together, I have managed to avoid the hen parties ever since.
The issue became particularly obvious when I started to refuse to dress up in taffeta at weddings. I was faced with ultimatums by the bridal pair: either I could be master of ceremonies, or I could be fixed up with one of the other singles. But there was no way I could come to the wedding dateless without playing an official role: where would they possibly seat me? And then, of course, there is the humiliation that matches no other: the concussion that can be incurred when the bride makes no bones about aiming the bridal bouquet directly at your head.
One wedding in particular comes to mind when I think of occasions where I'd rather have gone with any date at all than with no date to a wedding. The wedding couple was a favorite – a cousin I adore and her childhood sweetheart, who had a love story their children will write about and a wedding I wouldn't have missed for the world. I flew overseas to be there, and agreed to walk down the aisle in a beige crimplene number, flanked by two stick figures, and feelings of dread shrouding the experience for the weeks running up to the event.
What I had not counted on was the run-up events before the wedding. When busy with dress fittings, hair trials and experimental makeup rehearsals, one tends to forget about the other fun and games that adorn the traditional wedding ceremony. But in this case, I was not to be let off the hook. My cousin called to ensure that I would come to town a couple of days early for her 'hen party'. I agreed, of course, and then called my married friends to ask what a hen party was. The explanation I got sounded like a lot more fun than I anticipated having at the wedding itself. A hen party, according to my sources, is a female version of a bachelor party. You dress the bride-to-be up in embarrassing attire, everyone gets drunk and then you embarrass her with public displays of raunchy lingerie and gifts in the form of sex toys. And as this was a party for girls only, it would be the one occasion where not having a date for the wedding would be a non-issue. I couldn't wait.
Since I came straight from the airport and had no time to get anything particularly 'naughty', I was forced to resort to the lowest form of erotic souvenir – to my relief, I found a pornographic novel at the airport bookstore that looked like it could make even the class slut blush. I couldn't be sure, as the book had been tightly wrapped in cellophane to ward off perverts looking for a free thrill, but I figured if it was dirty enough for cellophane, it would certainly be dirty enough to make my cousin flush at her hen party, and I bought the book while avoiding eye contact with the shop clerk lest she think I was buying the smut for myself.
My biggest joy was that my cousin had elected to go for a fun bachelorette do, rather than the more traditional kitchen tea that usually precedes weddings of my generation. The thought of having to sit through an evening of tea and oven gloves left me cold, but a night of drinking and raucous behavior was something I could definitely get into. I admit I felt just slightly uncomfortable when we arrived at the venue and I found myself seated between my aunt and her mother – I couldn't help but wonder how they would react to the sexy undies and dirty toys that were likely to be unveiled during the evening. But I decided not to make that my concern, and got busy looking for alcohol to start the evening off on a good note.
Before long, I realized the first game of the night was underway, and was pretty horrified to realize that once again, my lack of date was going to be held against me. All the attendees recanted, one by one, how they had met their life partners and when they had tied the knot (or at least, when they were intending to). In a cruel game of odd-man-out, I realized that other than the widowed granny, I was to be the only dateless representative of my cousin's close circle of friends. So when it came to my turn to tell 'my story', I could either tell everyone I was a bridesmaid to compensate for being still single, or I could change the topic. I chose the latter, and suggested we get going with the gift opening ceremony.
Everyone responded enthusiastically, and I started to giggle at the thought of how my gift would make my cousin cringe. As the girl sitting next to my cousin volunteered to be the first to present her with her gift, everyone told her that she had to guess what was in the long box. I actually wanted the earth to swallow me up whole – here it was obvious the box contained what must be the biggest vibrator my cousin would ever lay her eyes on, and I was going to witness her mother and grandmother's exposure to the joystick. I almost wanted to distract them so they wouldn't notice. I was so focused on how embarrassing this would be for them, that I didn't pay attention to the gift opening, until I hear my cousin's gasp of joy as she uncovered the big box and revealed nothing less than a big, electric, hand mixer.
And I realized that I'd been had. This was no hen party, but rather a good old-fashioned kitchen tea in the guise of a bachelorette party. And there I was, the sole representative of single women everywhere, toting a pornographic novel at a conservative congregation. Thank G-d it was wrapped – by the time it came to my turn, I simply raised the book in the air, announced it was the latest and greatest recipe book that was all the rage, and handed it over to my cousin while whispering in her ear that if she opened it in this forum she wouldn't live to see her wedding day.
It was several years later that I told her the true story of what was in the book I reclaimed as soon as the gift ceremony was over. And while I couldn't get out of weddings all together, I have managed to avoid the hen parties ever since.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
To pet or not to pet, that is the question
A good friend of mine told me recently that his most traumatic first date took place on a busy street in Tel Aviv. He had met someone he was attracted to on a train ride, and after a few phone calls they decided to meet at a coffee house. The first part of the date seemed to go very well, but he was horrified half-way through when a street cat passed their table and his date reached into her bag for a tin of tuna, which she didn't hesitate to open up and give to the feral creature. Needless to say, this raised some obvious concerns for my friend and he hastened to end the date and the short-lived romance as soon as he could.
He may or may not have remembered that I am a true animal lover when he told me that story. Not that I would ever consider feeding a stray animal on the street, but I grew up in a house with pets and I am pretty fond of just about all of G-d's creatures.
I also have two cats at home, and am extremely fond of them too. Not only are they clean animals, but they require very little taking care of – feeding once a day and a bit of affection is all they really need. Just as importantly, cats have also helped me (on more than one occasion) to get out of a couple of fairly awkward situations without having to take personal responsibility for my actions. Allow me to explain…
A colleague at work asked if he could give a friend my number. I agreed, and was given a little background about the friend – he was a scholar, with a PhD in physics, played basketball and came from a nice family. Sounded good enough to me, until our first conversation, where we literally could not find one thing to talk about that would last more than a couple of words. Yes/no answers seemed to be the name of the game, and had this been a meeting via the Internet, there's no doubt I would have politely explained to me that it seemed we may not have much in common, and left it at that. Unfortunately, the etiquette of dating via friends is a little more complicated than that, and I found myself in a very awkward position. I'd rather have gone for root canal than have to spend an entire evening trying to make conversation with this stranger, yet how could I not? Until he called again to set up the date, and I asked him how he felt about animals. This was not a setup, just a desperate attempt to find something the two of us could possibly discuss. And he explained that he's super-allergic to animals, in particular to cats of any kind. In fact, he just THINKS of felines and starts to sneeze. I grasped the moment, and explained that not only do I actually like cats, but I have two of my own, and perhaps it wouldn't have been the best idea for us to meet. Neither of us would want to have to deal with a situation where he could never visit my home, now would we? And if he was THAT allergic, I would surely carry the allergens around on my clothes and we'd have hated for him to sneeze every time he saw ME, wouldn't we? I'm not sure whether he was as eager to get out of meeting me as I was to avoid meeting him, but he took the bait at first chance and agreed that perhaps we should, regrettably, agree not to meet up.
The thing is, cats are often a deterrent for potential partners. And sometimes one simply needs to take advantage. The other time I used cats to aid a great escape was when my parents' friends gave my number to someone they thought was nice (usually that means – he was also single, so let's just fix them up, surely they'll find SOMETHING to talk about…). I was not given a choice in this one – I got a call from this guy without any prior warning from the matchmakers. I felt extremely uncomfortable about the whole thing – I knew absolutely nothing about him, had no way of contacting the people who'd fixed us up (they'd gone on a cruise the day after dispensing my personal contact details), and felt a sense of obligation to my own parents not to embarrass their friends by refusing to meet their friend. So we planned a meeting at a bar in the area, and I arrived to find someone who, believe it or not, was missing a few essential facial features. In particular, there was a distinct lack of chin, which may have been deemed acceptable by some if it was not complemented by the total absence of top teeth. OK. I exaggerate. After some very close staring (I just couldn't help myself), I realized that teeth did EXIST on the top gum, but they were very very small. How small? I think it would be fair to compare them to the underscore key on a word processor. Short white lines protruding from the upper gum, with a lip literally falling over onto a non-existent chin. Get the picture? While this did not make for great viewing (and neither did watching him try to drink coffee), it also made understanding him a bit of a chore. And I had been down the road of trying to converse in Hebrew with someone who had a speech impediment before – not my strong point.
My patience had run out. Manners should only have to take one so far. So half an hour into the date, I told him that I had suddenly realized that I had forgotten to feed the dozens of street cats who live under my building (yes, desperate times call for desperate actions), and that I would have to run. I took a chance on him not being a cat lover, and was hoping to ensure that a second call would not follow. The bet paid off and I never heard from him again. Although there really weren't really dozens of cats under my building, my own house pets got a special tuna treat on my return.
He may or may not have remembered that I am a true animal lover when he told me that story. Not that I would ever consider feeding a stray animal on the street, but I grew up in a house with pets and I am pretty fond of just about all of G-d's creatures.
I also have two cats at home, and am extremely fond of them too. Not only are they clean animals, but they require very little taking care of – feeding once a day and a bit of affection is all they really need. Just as importantly, cats have also helped me (on more than one occasion) to get out of a couple of fairly awkward situations without having to take personal responsibility for my actions. Allow me to explain…
A colleague at work asked if he could give a friend my number. I agreed, and was given a little background about the friend – he was a scholar, with a PhD in physics, played basketball and came from a nice family. Sounded good enough to me, until our first conversation, where we literally could not find one thing to talk about that would last more than a couple of words. Yes/no answers seemed to be the name of the game, and had this been a meeting via the Internet, there's no doubt I would have politely explained to me that it seemed we may not have much in common, and left it at that. Unfortunately, the etiquette of dating via friends is a little more complicated than that, and I found myself in a very awkward position. I'd rather have gone for root canal than have to spend an entire evening trying to make conversation with this stranger, yet how could I not? Until he called again to set up the date, and I asked him how he felt about animals. This was not a setup, just a desperate attempt to find something the two of us could possibly discuss. And he explained that he's super-allergic to animals, in particular to cats of any kind. In fact, he just THINKS of felines and starts to sneeze. I grasped the moment, and explained that not only do I actually like cats, but I have two of my own, and perhaps it wouldn't have been the best idea for us to meet. Neither of us would want to have to deal with a situation where he could never visit my home, now would we? And if he was THAT allergic, I would surely carry the allergens around on my clothes and we'd have hated for him to sneeze every time he saw ME, wouldn't we? I'm not sure whether he was as eager to get out of meeting me as I was to avoid meeting him, but he took the bait at first chance and agreed that perhaps we should, regrettably, agree not to meet up.
The thing is, cats are often a deterrent for potential partners. And sometimes one simply needs to take advantage. The other time I used cats to aid a great escape was when my parents' friends gave my number to someone they thought was nice (usually that means – he was also single, so let's just fix them up, surely they'll find SOMETHING to talk about…). I was not given a choice in this one – I got a call from this guy without any prior warning from the matchmakers. I felt extremely uncomfortable about the whole thing – I knew absolutely nothing about him, had no way of contacting the people who'd fixed us up (they'd gone on a cruise the day after dispensing my personal contact details), and felt a sense of obligation to my own parents not to embarrass their friends by refusing to meet their friend. So we planned a meeting at a bar in the area, and I arrived to find someone who, believe it or not, was missing a few essential facial features. In particular, there was a distinct lack of chin, which may have been deemed acceptable by some if it was not complemented by the total absence of top teeth. OK. I exaggerate. After some very close staring (I just couldn't help myself), I realized that teeth did EXIST on the top gum, but they were very very small. How small? I think it would be fair to compare them to the underscore key on a word processor. Short white lines protruding from the upper gum, with a lip literally falling over onto a non-existent chin. Get the picture? While this did not make for great viewing (and neither did watching him try to drink coffee), it also made understanding him a bit of a chore. And I had been down the road of trying to converse in Hebrew with someone who had a speech impediment before – not my strong point.
My patience had run out. Manners should only have to take one so far. So half an hour into the date, I told him that I had suddenly realized that I had forgotten to feed the dozens of street cats who live under my building (yes, desperate times call for desperate actions), and that I would have to run. I took a chance on him not being a cat lover, and was hoping to ensure that a second call would not follow. The bet paid off and I never heard from him again. Although there really weren't really dozens of cats under my building, my own house pets got a special tuna treat on my return.
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