One more sloppy man on one more dating site. I look at them and I wonder why they think they can get away with so little effort. Have our standards as women truly sunk so low?
The one who hit “like” obviously didn’t read the profile. Yes, sorry, you do live too far away. No, I am not taking a chance on a tiny man in red swim trunks in front of a pretty Victorian with no trees in the yard. Ridiculous. Utterly absurd. If I bother with a man, he’s simply got to try harder than that. Certainly he’s going to have to try harder than the polo-and-khakis IT uniform. Jeans and a button-down make a fantastic casual outfit (but please go with shoes other than sneakers). Shave your face. Style your hair. When in doubt, realise that the barfly portrait is not your most flattering and choose another. If we have to look nice in our photos, so do you! Take your visual cues from film noir and class it up a little, will you?
And for pity’s sake, write well. Write with wit. If you have even half a brain, I really would like to see it. Don’t be the same generic outdoors-sports-beer-sex man I’ve rejected a hundred times before. Have interesting interests. Have a life outside your dating efforts, because desperation is never attractive. Talk about the good times we might have together, because otherwise I assume I’ll have to develop a fondness for your hobbies. If you want a woman with plans for her future, have plans for your own.
I won’t be a man’s first serious, long-term relationship. He certainly won’t be mine, and really I’m old enough not to want to bother teaching someone how not to fuck up. By all means date younger if you have no idea how. You won’t be wasting my thirties if you “find yourself” at forty or later wanting something I can’t give. I’m pretty settled in terms of what I want from a man.
I can’t say the same about women, precisely, but I know generally the kind of life that appeals to me, and women can be bullheaded but I trust us more to be able to sit down, communicate, and make it work. That’s bias. I am not obliged to believe otherwise, given my life experiences. Of course some women will never come to the table — so they won’t be worthwhile, either. I suppose I am more comfortable showing the soft parts of myself to a woman than to a man at this point, and therefore better able to share what needs sharing.
Drowsy now. I should eat something (carefully!) and fill up the tank with a little more Pepsi. I’ve a long night ahead, in which I intend to finish some schoolwork — oh, don’t laugh at me; I did get permission from my professors to work past the deadline! And I’d like to sew in my downtime. The muslin proceeds apace. I might have a body piece, sans sleeves, to try on before too long. That would be lovely.