Ann Litts just sent me a story (which she is allowing me to use, and thanks as always) about her ten hot minutes of online dating.
Ann is pretty, blond, badass and an RN. She also rides a Harley, so kindly, geddafuckouddadaway.
During a momentary and very serious, lapse in judgement, she went online. Here then is her story in its entirety:
So — for the 10 hot seconds I participated in On Line Dating. The most attractive thing about me was the RN at the end of my name. I chatted with a man who had back surgery. The same back surgery a close friend and hiking partner had. We discussed skiing — his surgeon had cleared him. It was agreed to meet for drinks. As I am walking across the parking lot to the restaurant — a man gets out of a very nice luxury vehicle. He can barely make it to the front door he is having so much trouble with his mobility.
This man purposefully lead me to believe he could ski. I don’t think he could go up more than 2 or 3 steps. As we settle in for a drink — he tells me how rich he is. Note the make/model of his car. We could take fabulous trips together — first class because he can afford it and his health requires the extra level of comfort.
His wealth is supposed to negate the fact I’ve been lied to. It’s supposed to somehow make me feel less like a whore because I’m being purchased for my nursing skills and to a lesser degree for my sexual skills.
Nearly the same thing happened when I walked by a man I was meeting for drinks. He was sitting at the bar and because he didn’t have brown hair like in his profile photo (completely gray) and was a good 60# heavier — I walked right on by. He called my name and even then — it took me a moment to find a resemblance. As I ordered a drink (a double — thanks for asking) he proceeded to open the conversation with how successful his business was and all the physicians he knew who worked at my hospital because his company had built their luxury homes.
Really? Because — how do I know you aren’t lying about that too???
Basically the same man. Liar. I had better things to do with My Life than have that date on replay.
Now I just go out with my friends. Who don’t lie to me. Who already like me. Life is so much better ❤
To that, those of you who haven’t downed your second bourbon out of empathy for Ann, I wish to add this:
Three years ago, in response to my Match.com profile, I had an enthusiastic inquiry from someone calling himself The Captain.
The Captain, as it were, was ISO an adventurous woman.
She would drive his RV, help him about in his wheelchair, tend to his alcohol, diaper and sexual needs. They would tool about all over the country, having grand adventures (such as they could be, given his condition). This “adventurous woman” was expected to perform all manner of duties (including, one would surmise, all nursing needs). Which of course would take all day, all night, Every. Single. Day. For the rest of The Captain’s life.
He was sure I was The One. He offered me to join him on The Adventure of a Lifetime.
My profile clearly stated that I was looking for an athlete. My profile showed twenty-six photos of skydiving, bungee jumping, stair running, horse back riding, kayaking, mountain climbing...name your sport. All over the world.
Not an RV in sight. No nursing credentials either. One might surmise that I rather liked being in other countries, doing radically challenging things.
Here’s the thing: every single one of us has the right to reach to whomever we wish. This man’s condition required 24-hour, constant care.
I struggled to understand how someone with those challenges could imagine that someone whose life was built around independence, extreme sports and international travel would find being trapped in a tiny RV with a serious invalid the adventure of a lifetime.
Some might. I suspect there’s a woman out there for Ann’s dishonest friends. And someone for whom being a full-time caretaker for The Captain is an ideal situation.
However, if you need a caretaker, pay for it. Get Medicare to assist, whatever the situation is. Hire a professional. Don’t ask your new date to consider a lifetime of servitude. That’s not what we signed up for online. We get plenty of that at work (and lots of folks have plenty of that at home, too).
This is fundamentally different from a partner, who when faced with a loved one who is similarly crippled, sticks it out because they made that promise.
But this is what we do: we don’t think. We aren’t realistic when we pitch ourselves online.
We can all too be often fundamentally dishonest with ourselves about our looks, our condition, our ages, our bodies, what we can actually offer a partner.
Then when we get rejected, we’re mad. Or sad. Or bitter.
I’m with Ann. While I still occasionally peruse the profiles ISO comedy material (no better source), I am better off with bourbon.
But since I don’t drink, I’ll settle for a canteen full of ice cold glacier water in the wilderness.
With thanks to Ann, of course, for all her stories.