Aunt Peanuts asked me how dating was going.
It’s men on a dating website with no shirts, who can’t spell and think it’s “cute” that you are smart. It’s guys who like “‘humpting and fishing” sending you a message that just says “hey”.
Dating after 35 is watching a 16-year-old girl on youtube, as she uses her straightening iron to curl her hair. And being unable to replicate the effect. It’s trying to figure out how to “contour” your face and realizing that you bought a kit which has instructions, but you need your bifocals to read the instructions and you are wearing contacts.
It’s trying to figure out, in a wardrobe of work clothes and jeans, what constitutes “date clothes. It’s changing your clothes three times and sending half a million photos to your friend. Can you wear a cardigan on a date? It’s heading out the door 5 minutes late, hating what you’re are wearing.
It’s arriving at a starbucks/restaurant/wine bar and looking around, hoping he looks like his photo. It’s a discussion with Jason/Steven/Mark/Scott/Chris about work/hobbies/astrology/their opinions on the fiscal crisis. It’s trying to figure out how to leave because you don’t want to talk about astrology and their opinions on the fiscal crises.
It’s will he text? What if he doesn’t? What if he does? Should I kiss him? Do I want to? It’s wondering if you should take the dating app on your phone and just look at pictures of cats instead.
And it’s the guy who says “I don’t care if it’s Sunday and you are wearing jeans and a sweater and your hair is in a ponytail. I’d like to see you again. I’ll meet you when you walk your dog. I’ll bring coffee.”