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Dating…Unintentionally

The dating site I was on seems to have generated some quality interest of late. Yes, I admit, my absence here Is due to enjoying vacation time, but also because I’ve spent said vacation time working honing my cycling skills. Yes, I’ve reached the 63-mile marker in length of ride, and I’ve reached a 14.4 mph on a 49 mile ride which is decent. I’m still recovering from that ride, two days later. Other than hills, we pushed a pretty steady 18-22 mph. which is far faster than I ever ride on my own. But enough of that. I’ve been working out. My body is showing the results, in my tummy area (good-bye muffin top) and below my knees (hello cut calves and serious cycling definition). Now, if only I could obtain the cyclist’s butt and thighs. All in good time, I tell myself.

But this is not about my workout regimen, this is about my love life, or my almost love life.
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Who Does This?

His byline read, “Who does this?” It was a valid question, after all. Who does this? Who displays a bunch of photos so anonymous strangers, trolls really, can view them and thus make a decision based on whether or not they will contact you? Who goes through this in hopes of finding a viable long-term relationship? The sad truth is, everybody’s doing it, or so it seems. Even more pathetic, I have jumped in this pond again.

I deleted Who-Does-This’s initial email to me. He didn’t say much other than hello or how are you; a simple cut-and-paste statement made by trolls when trolling. I discarded it without even checking out his profile. But he contacted me again. His second contact was no more brilliant than the first, but I looked at his profile this time. 54, okay, that was good since I’m looking for someone who has to be at least 45…if you could call what I’m doing, looking. I cruised through his images, impressively, he had many, and he was attractive. Then I noticed he lives about 90 minutes away in a city near me that I am not even remotely interested in visiting, let alone spend significant time in. Dealbreaker. That’s when I saw his byline. “Who Does This?” Maybe I should have been cynical, but it cracked me up.

I ventured a response, “I have the same question: Who does this? And why are we here? Are you really 54, because you look 45.”

And now he wants to chat. All will be well and good until I have to actually meet the dude. This will involve getting dressed up. Getting dressed up means I must wear shoes. Shit. Why didn’t I think this through a bit more thoroughly?

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