I spent the weekend in West Virginia, heading up that way with a whole list in my head of people to see and things to do, but ended up having the entire weekend consumed by my crazy mama. Which was fine, it was Mother’s Day afterall, and my late sister’s birthday was this weekend as well, which always hits mom pretty hard, so I was glad to be able to distract her. While I could fill pages with stories of shopping with her all weekend (including her failed attempts at “forgetting” her purse so I would pay for the hootchie-wear tank tops she picked out), I’ll stick to the good stuff. Mama is trying her hand at online dating. We were visiting with a friend of mine and the topic of meeting people on the internet came up. I shared that I had done so, always with some success, and my friend told of the folks she knew who had found true love on the interwebs.
“Well show me who gets on here around here!” Mom said. We took her to a site, and entered her search parameters. “Don’t want anyone over sixty or under twenty one!”
We did the search and checked out a few profiles, but the site quickly said we would have to join before looking at anymore.
“Well sign me up!”
Keep in mind, she doesn’t own a computer, doesn’t have an email address, and despite claiming anytime one of her absurd stories needs back up that she “looked it up on the computer”, has never even heard of Google. So we signed her up. Created an email address and started creating her online dating profile.
The first part asked her to tell a bit about herself. I, of course, was typing it all. She shared her zodiac sign, making sure to point out that it was “the most passionate” one. She listed her favorite colors, and her hobbies. The next segment asked her to describe an ideal first date. “Hmmm…dinner and maybe a nice drive in the country.” I pointed out that it might be too dark to appreciate the scenery of a country drive after dinner. “Well, lunch then.” I suggested that lunch dates were best suited to weekdays (my personal opinion, of course) and that if the gentleman had time for a drive to the country afterward, chances are he lacked a decent job.
“Good point! You’ve got to have a J-O-B to get with me!” If her past is any indication, she is flexible on this point. “Well, say dinner and then shopping. We can go to the mall and buy fancy panties.”
“You seriously want me to put that?”
“Yes! That would be a great date. We could pick ’em out together. But make sure you say they are for me and not him, I don’t want to end up with a transvestite!”
The final segment was a series of questions that you could either agree, agree somewhat, disagree somewhat, or disagree with. I bit my tongue and let her answer them as she chose, despite her very skewed view of herself on some of them.
The woman who takes two or three naps a day and often doesn’t get out of her pajamas “agreed” that she was an energetic person.
The woman who won’t show up on time to any social committment, if she bothers to show up at all, “agreed” that she was dependable.
And the woman who has never gone to church unless it was to walk down the aisle “agreed” that her religion was very important to her.
We uploaded a few photos, including one she chose from a family Christmas party where she got drunk and started guzzling infused cooking vodka. It has to be the least flattering photo I’ve ever seen, but she insisted.
We hit submit. And IMMEDIATELY her inbox started to fill up.
I was a little stunned. Who knew men were lined up to talk to a woman whose idea of romance was an evening in the lingerie department and who posted a picture of herself with her gut hanging out? There’s a lid for every pot I suppose.
So I typed out responses to the fellas while she dictated. One gentleman remarked on the beautiful springlike weather.
“I want you to respond that a woman is like a rose. In spring, I’m just budding, but by summer I’ll be in full bloom.” I fought back laugher (or maybe I just laughed out loud) but sent the response she wanted.
After a few messages back and forth, another man introduced himself by name.
“You can tell him mine, but ask him if he knows what it means.”
I did as I was told, and when he responded that he didn’t know, she transcribed “It means beautiful, and I live up to it, both from within and from without.” By the end of the night, she had given her phone number to three different men. When I dropped her off at home, I had hardly had time to get out of the driveway when she called.
“Which one was David Williams??”
“Mother, I don’t remember.”
“Well he’s done called and left a message! I’s hoping he was the one in the cowboy hat.” (She’d taken a particular interest in one fellow whose profile picture showed him in a Stetson. She was thrilled to learn that he WOULD wear it to bed if so requested) “It’s eleven o’clock! I’m not calling him back at this hour, that would give the wrong impression.”
“Yes, it might.”
“Well goodnight, honey. Mommy loves ya. Check on there for me in the morning and see who’s looked at me!”
I forgot to. But I did check today, and ELEVEN different men had messaged her, including one who was very eager to go panty shopping because he “was always shy being in those aisles by himself.”