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It was now July, a few weeks since my date with Jim, the weed smoker who refused to split our dinner bill.I knew matching algorithms weren’t perfect, but I kept dating and decided not to cancel my memberships with e Harmony, Match.com, and JDate.The majority of dates I’d been going on weren’t horrible, they just weren’t great. I knew that if I spent enough time searching through each site and going out with a large enough group of men, I could increase the probability of my finding the right one.And besides, even if I canceled, I knew how Internet marketing worked. Your black pants and black or gray top or whatever you’re wearing isn’t good for a first date.All three services would continue to email me new profiles every day. Jeff Goldblum isn’t going to date someone who wears what you wear to work.” My date with Mench Tastic kept me preoccupied the rest of the day. I bet he has sexy hands—strong, veiny even, but soft.I was sitting at my desk at work when sent me a similar reminder message, this time highlighting Mench Tastic, and his profile immediately grabbed my attention. I sat through a client meeting discussing the usability of a website, and all I could think about was his photo gallery. I looked at my watch more often than I should have, waiting for the meeting to end.
In his About Me section, Mench Tastic wrote, “I’m a journalist, which sometimes means long hours at work but always means I have fantastic stories to tell.” Looking at his profile, I thought that I might know his byline. I rifled through the piles of paper on my own desk looking for my mobile phone. Since it could happen so quickly, I usually didn’t realize I was drunk until something bad had already happened.
Even so, we shared enough similarities in our personal and professional lives that it felt as if, even as strangers, we’d been a part of each other’s social circles for many years. It could take just one strong drink for accidentally drunk and unwittingly aggressive Amy to rear her ugly head, and the bartenders at Longshots were too unpredictable to entrust with this very important first meeting.
I moused over his photo gallery and started clicking through. Drink in hand, I commandeered my usual position at Longshots: the overstuffed leather sofa in the back corner.
He had thick, dark curly hair and wore modern horn-rimmed glasses. You can’t make yourself that available.” But he’s so good-looking. It was dim but not too dark, and it was the one place in the bar that didn’t cast the kind of bad shadows that could add a week of sleepless nights plus another 20 years to my face.
In one picture, he was wearing white slacks (linen maybe? He looked serene and content, standing with a very tan, old sailor behind the wheel of a large yacht. I threw my gigantic bag, packed with my laptop and dating data, next to me as I sat down and sunk into the cushion.