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15
MIA
I don’t even knowwhy I download the Blind Date app onto my phone. It feels a little pathetic, really.
But tonight, when I was locking up my shop to go pick up my daughter from her summer camp, I glanced across the street and saw Simone with her arms around her husband. She looked so happy it made my chest ache, and I guess I realized I wasn’t ready to give up on dating after all.
I’ve been single for a long time. My daughter is nine years old, and I haven’t seriously dated anyone since I got pregnant with her. Her father never wanted kids, and when I got pregnant, he made me choose between my baby and our marriage.
I chose my baby.
Now she’s nine years old. I didn’t date at all for the first six years of her life. For the past three, I’ve been on a dozen first dates, two second dates, and zero thirds. As my new dating app loads, I’m not feeling exactly hopeful about my chances.
It’s not that I need a man to be happy. I have my daughter, my business, and my family. My life is fulfilling, and I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished on my own.
Still…I’m a woman. I turned forty a month ago, and it feels like a blink of an eye since Bailey was born. Another blink, another nine years, and she’ll be off to college. What will I do then?
I open the app and am prompted to fill out a profile. Username, first name, age, sexual orientation, interests…standard internet dating questions so far. I pause on the “what are you looking for in a relationship” question because I’m not exactly sure. Previously, when filling out these types of profiles, I’d try to weed out the creeps by saying I was looking for a long-term partner. Guys who were just looking for sex usually filtered themselves out.
But is that what I want? A man-baby hanging around, leaving his crap everywhere in my house?
I purse my lips. Then I click, “Looking for fun.”
Who doesn’t want fun? It feels a bit dangerous, but hey—this is anonymous, mostly. Why not be honest about it?
I fill in my interests (rock climbing, nature walks) and dislikes (action movies), then pause when it asks me to fill out my favorite quote. I groan. This is exactly what I hate about dating profiles. Even if I had a favorite quote, why would I invite strangers to judge it? I’m supposed to pick something clever and funny that makes me sound smart, flirty, and open for business all at the same time. It’s silly, and I hate it.
Then I glance up and I see a cross-stitch my sister sent me hanging on the wall.
Mitch Hedberg once said, “A severed foot is the ultimate stocking stuffer.” My sister thought it would be appropriate to cross-stitch that quote right below an illustration of a foot. When I opened the package and saw her work, I happened to be drinking orange juice and proceeded to snort it all over myself. It burned like hellfire in my nostrils.
The stitching is really well done, though, and it made me laugh so hard I had to hang it up.
So there. It’s funny and clever, but it probably makes me sound like a psycho instead of a flirty mama trying to find a hot date.
But if a man can’t laugh with me, what’s the point?
At the bottom of my profile, there’s a section for additional info. I write,I’m a single mom of one. If you’ve read this far and you’re still interested, send me a??That’s a foot emoji, by the way. Also known as the ultimate stocking stuffer.
Giggling to myself, I screenshot the profile and send it to my sister. Then I hit publish and see what comes up. Despite myself, I feel a little thrill of excitement. Maybe,maybeI’ll meet someone on here. Who knows?
The app’s screen shows me a few tiles with various profiles. Names are hidden until a few messages are exchanged and both parties agree to reveal them, so all I see are usernames. I click on the first one, LizardMan1979, and read a saga about a man’s pet lizard.
No, thank you.
The next profile has a username consisting of seemingly random numbers. Number Guy gives a detailed description of his truck, his fishing gear, and the last ten fish he caught. Then in additional info, he literally writes,Not afraid to get my fishy stank on, ladies.
Ugh. I’m going to throw up.
The third profile looks relatively normal, if a bit bland. But apparently he’s a smoker, and “if you can’t deal with cigarettes, don’t waste my time.”
Maybe I won’t meet anyone on this app, after all.
“Mom! I’m hungry!” Bailey stomps into the living room and throws herself dramatically on the sofa.
Arching a brow, I look at my daughter. “Hi Hungry, I’m Mom.”
“UGH!”
