Another guest blogger for you today- a great story about how small the world can be (TOO SMALL). Thanks to my favorite third-step-cousin-twice-removed, Beth, for this little gem.
Rachel seems to have cornered the market on attracting crazy-misspelling-Chihuahua-loving- mullet growing-dates. I’m here to tell you that there is a realm of awkward in online dating that extends outside of the crazy personalities and unfortunate habits of potential suitors. Sometimes the person on the other end of the InterWebs is (relatively) normal. Sometimes it is simply the (uncontrollable, unforeseeable) circumstances that make meeting that special someone online difficult (and even cringe-worthy)…
In that very magical (and by magical, I mean horrific) time after my divorce, I decided a little foray into the world of online romance would be a welcome distraction, and maybe, an efficient and effective way to meet someone new. (I know, so far I sound like I make REALLY good decisions.) And I was right. I signed myself up for the cheapest (again, demonstrating good decision making) service, made myself a witty and (hopefully) alluring profile and pushed “Publish.”
Within minutes I had dozens of responses. For the next few weeks, I set up dates for three nights a week. In defense of online dating (and my decision making), it really worked. I met lots of nice men who had (generally) accurately represented themselves in their profiles. (Plus, I got lots of free dinners and went on some really interesting and fun dates – white water tubing, baseball games and karaoke. I mean, doesn’t that sound like a good summer?) So I didn’t find “the” (second) one through an online service, but I enjoyed meeting the men I did, and am glad to have had those experiences.
Where, then, is the awkward you might ask? Don’t be impatient! Here it is.
One of the very nice men who contacted me was named Joe.* Joe sent me a few messages, but because he was outside of my specified age range, I didn’t respond. (I know. Rude. But I was short on time and long on responses to write.) But Joe was persistent and I finally caved. (And let’s be honest, the age difference isn’t really so much of an issue for me. Exhibit A: the decade plus age difference between my second husband and me.) After a few email exchanges, I gave Joe my cell number in preparation for setting up a date. That evening Joe calls and things start of well enough. He is funny and engaging. Well-spoken and very interested in talking about me (not exes or street fights or tiny dogs). Our general ambitions were similar and our values seemed to be in line. All good things.
Joe’s profile listed his occupation as “law enforcement.” (Yes, Rachel, you WOULD think I would know enough to leave police officers alone. What can I say? I have no excuse.) So I say to Joe, “Tell me about your job.” Well, he explains, he is a state police officer, but is currently on medical leave after being injured, heroically, in a fire on the job. And who doesn’t love a hero? But he’s only been with the state police for a few years. Naturally, I had to ask. “What did you do before that?” Oh, well, wouldn’t you know? He was a police officer in my hometown city for fifteen years. No kidding! Not only that, he was on the SWAT team for said police department.
(Here is where I confess that my Dad, we’ll call him Ted, has been on the SWAT team for my hometown police department for the last 15 or so years. Hmmm…)
”So, wow, you might know my Dad then.”
“Maybe. You know, it’s a pretty big department. What’s your Dad’s name?”
“Ted. Ted MyMaidenName.”
“Teddy!? Oh man, Teddy! Of course, I know him! We go way back. Blah. Blah. Blah.” Insert stories about his long time professional and social relationship with my Dad here.
*Silence* (During which the recognition of just what we had unknowingly gotten ourselves into settles upon him.)
After a minute, Joe says, “I think I could cry.”
To which I respond, “Yeah, well, I don’t think this should go any further. But it was nice getting to know you.” But Joe isn’t ready to call it quits and wants to ask my Dad’s permission. (You don’t know my Dad, but he can be scary. He’s kind of like Rachel’s Dad in that protective and intimidating father-of-young-women sense. Only with less Jesus and more guns.)
“Umm. No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Honestly, who would think that’s a good idea? I finally convince him that parting ways would be most appropriate. Good bye, Joe.
Just for fun, I decide to ask my Dad, very casually, if he knows someone named Joe. (Even more stellar decision making.) Of course, Dad knows him. According to Dad, he’s a great guy. A good shot. Is married with kids.” Umm, Dad, you mean he was married. Oh that’s right, now he remembers. Joe got divorced. Then my Dad’s face falls, and his voice drops an octave. “Wait, how do YOU know about Joe’s divorce?”
Oh well, Dad, it’s this new fangled thing called online dating, and I swear, I will never almost-accidentally- try-to-date one of your friends again.
