It took me two-three sessions on eHarmony’s website to answer all the questions. I pushed the last button and went to bed thinking I’d wake up to find a long list of men dying to date me.
I had zilch.
I rechecked all the steps, and the website advised me to wait a few days – it was searching its entire pool. Zilch, again. I prayed the mob trying to log on had crashed the website, but I knew better.
On the verge of pathetic, I went back in and readjusted my answers and expectations.
I enlarged the search area to include a fifty-mile radius outside of the metropolis. Obviously the many million inhabitants weren’t a large enough pool to find me one man. I also extended the age range I was willing to consider. (I just needed him able to get around on his own.) I even lied. (What? I wasn’t applying for the Medal of Honor; I just wanted one date.)
Finally, I had nibbles.
Most of the matches were sad; few of the men interested me, none enough to venture dating any of them. My membership was running out and I was still dateless.
In the end, I whittled the list down to three: a widower who talked only about his late wife, a man who went on and on about his beautiful eyes, and a proud dad with a previous married life similar to mine.
I deleted the widower - who wants to compete with the memory of a dear wife? The man who was so into his own looks probably never noticed that I was gone, so that left the lonely dad.
Swapping emails with him was like looking into a mirror, and I wanted something different, something new. He sounded too serious, but still, maybe we could continue chatting once my eHarmony membership expired. Maybe we could just be friends.
To be continued. . . .