Cupid’s careening arrows: Hallmark or Halloween horror?

 

By Mary Kay Roth

One evening a few months ago, reading a good book, content and warm beneath my down comforter, I started receiving strange phone texts from my daughter, Anna.  

Photos of various guys.  One after another.  After another.  “Do you like this guy?”  “What about this one?”  “He’s kinda cute.”

A phone call later, lo and behold, Anna had created an online dating profile for her mom. Then, believe it or not, she had actually “liked” a few guys and was sending them messages (supposedly from me).

Good grief, confession time, this was likely my own fault.  Despite my long and faithful reputation as a happily, carefree introvert, the combination of retirement and pandemic had left me – ever so often – a little lonely. And in a weak moment I had confided that sometimes – now and then – once in a blue moon – I actually considered the unthinkable … Going on a date.

My daughter decided she was just the person to remedy the situation.  Enter Cupid’s arrow aimed directly at my soul.  And suddenly I had visions of potential storylines that ranged from Hallmark movie to Halloween horror flick. I had been unwittingly tossed into the online dating world of “OKCupid.” 

Of course, my first reaction was no.  Absolutely not.  Never, ever. This would likely not end well.

Fast forward, what the heck, I went on a date.

Granted, I was so nervous enroute to the rendezvous I screamed vintage Springsteen songs inside my car (my meditative stress relief).  And of course, upon arrival, I felt the need to explain my daughter’s role in this madcap escapade and that I was a novice at dating apps.  In response, my companion was quite understanding and even offered tips for successful online dating, including the sincere recommendation that I should add at least one profile photo of me straddling a motorcycle.

Driving home that evening, it occurred to me that I had always sucked at dating. What was I thinking? I was ready to throw in the towel.

However, a couple weeks later (admittedly a couple drinks into the evening), Anna and I were at a restaurant and decided it would be fun to scroll through the dating site.  Laughing uproariously over glaring differences in our taste in men – Anna’s favorite pick was a guy I nicknamed, “mafia man” – the waitress eventually became curious.  So, when Anna explained she was trying to find a man for her mom, the waitress sat down at our table and started scrolling through guys with Anna. (Heck, it was a slow night.) 

And despite my vehement protestations, the waitress ultimately agreed with Anna: “Yeah, I really like mafia man.” After which two voices behind us immediately chimed in: “Yeah, we like that one, too.” We turned around – and two young men seated at the table beside us had decided our menu of men was much more interesting than the menu of entrées. 

Majority rules, Anna proclaimed. Hence my second date.  

This time around, nervous yet again, I got lost in Omaha while searching for the restaurant and ended up parking almost a mile away.  Thus, the flip side, after dinner I couldn’t find my car.  

My very nice date offered to drive around in search of my sky-blue Honda, but as we were cruising concrete I suddenly remembered the sage advice my brother had offered: “Seriously, most guys are just looking for a nice woman to talk with, but also someone who isn’t crazy.  So perhaps you should leave your bumper-sticker car at home – at least for your first date.”

Holy moly, too late. As we pulled up to my vehicle there was a strange silence inside the guy’s car.  “THIS is yours?” he asked.  “Yeah, you probably should have listened to your brother.” 

Sigh.  This time around, driving home, I considered a few random numbers:  One-half of American adults are currently single – one-third of all Baby Boomers. And in 2020, more than 44 million people had used online dating services. 

I was now a single digit in all three of those tallies.

“But why?” my confused son, Josh, had asked – thinking his sister and mother had gone completely and totally mad.

“Mom, you’re one of the happiest people I know. You’re incredibly content and independent.  Why on earth would you do online dating?”

Then he asked what every mother dreams her child will ask her someday: “Mom, is it about sex?”

Silence.

Me: “Joshua Douglas, I cannot believe you would ask your mother that.” 

Josh: “You didn’t really answer ...”

Me: “Let’s return to that first question, now that’s a fair question: Why online dating?”

Indeed, I have a great life. Mostly I savor solo. But frankly there are times when the line between alone and lonely gets fuzzy, moments when it might feel good to hold someone’s hand or go to a movie together. Friday evenings when you want to get takeout – Sunday afternoons when you want to go for a drive – the world often seems as coupled up as critters marching onto Noah’s Ark.

I can assure you of this truth. When you mention the crazy notion of dating:  Your friends with spouses/significant others inevitably will respond something like, “If I were ever single again, I would never do that”  – while your friends who are single, incandescently happy or not, will have some measure of understanding in their eyes.

So, where does a person go from here?  

A good friend suggested I create an interactive Google survey:  What should Mary do next?  

• Immediately add a motorcycle picture to her online photo gallery.
• Count her blissful independent blessings and close down the profile.
• Add a new bumper sticker: “I’m in my 60’s but not dead. I date.” 
• Clobber the next person who says, “You just need to get out there.” 
• Consider that perhaps it is about the sex – and join Tinder.
• Move to a remote region of Nepal.
• Don’t worry, be happy.
• Other  _________

Bottom line, I can always hold my grandchild’s hand.  I can take a brisk Sunday hike with my beloved pup, Zuzu.  I can play a little Ben Webster on the saxophone any given Friday night, and Netflix will serve up any movie I desire. And, yes, I am pretty darned content, reading a good book.

Anna: “What do you want to do, Mom?  Should we close down your dating profile?”

Me: “Maybe …”

Silence.

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