Blind Dates

The inevitable question from marrieds or anyone currently in a relationship is this:

“So, are you seeing (translate “dating”) anyone?”  Right, that question again.  I know that one, I’m incredibly familiar with that one.  “Yes,” I say, “as a matter of fact, I see quite well. I see people all day, every day.  How about you?  Are seeing anyone?”  And jump ahead a bit, past the part where they roll their eyes and you’ll see the wheels in their head start spinning wildly out of control as they rack their brains trying to think of the name, phone number and employment status of every single guy they’ve ever known.  “I know a guy…” as the story goes.  “I know a guy that I went to school with; he’s about your age and single.  He lives in Romania now, but you should definitely give him a call sometime – or even better – I could give him your email address.  Or, oh yes, why didn’t I think of this sooner, you could be MySpace/Facebook friends.”  And then they wait expectantly for you to realize, “Yes, this is IT – this obviously, must surely, of course, be “the one” I’ve waited my whole life for.  I mean it’s a small world; Romania’s not that far.  And I’m sure that if he’s your friend he must be a perfect match for me…I probably don’t even need to meet him.”

Now, I consider myself to be 85% reasonable.  I’m intelligent, no Miss USA, but not bad either.  I’m not trashy or prudish.  I can have fun and laugh.  I’m pretty open to new experiences.  I’m confident enough to be who I am.  But at this point in the conversation I feel about as significant as the burnt out 30 watt light bulb that’s in the light fixture hanging over our heads.  Seriously, some random guy in Romania?  Are you kidding me? That’s the best you can come up with.  Well, at least that’s better than feeling pressured into a blind date where you actually have to meet, converse and pretend that you are not utterly offended by the fact that someone thought this could be a good match for you.  So, it could be worse – he could live in town.

If he lived in town you’d feel the pressure to go, after all.  “Don’t you want to be as happy as we are?”  Oh, is that happy?  Oh, right, well, ummm…okay, sure.  I’m up for meeting someone new.  Why not?  Well, because he’s on his 2^nd divorce, has two kids, just filed bankruptcy, is jobless and tells me all of this in the first 30 minutes…in the car on our way to the “date” that’s technically a “just get to know a new person” outing.  This totally ruined Phantom of the Opera and a trip to the Fox Theater in Atlanta…The Fox.  I love the Fox.  And he just had to spill his guts right up front.  He could have at least waited until intermission.

Or how about Elmer Fudd?  Oh, he was a great one, too.  The hunting, eastern Kentucky, never traveled more than thirty miles from Mom, wears a camouflage hat and spits his chew saliva out the juiced up, big ole tired pick up truck window date.  Mmmm.  How, I want to know, in the world, did you EVER think this could work for me?  Me, who loves to travel across an ocean, way, way more than thirty miles.  Me, who is allergic to any form of tobacco products, and deadly allergic to the idea of kissing anyone who’s ever used them.  Me, who wouldn’t know how to hold a gun, let alone shoot one.  Me, who doesn’t want to have to get a running start in order to jump into your vehicle.  Me who hangs art on her walls, not antlers.  Me who reads and writes and listens to Coldplay and Beethoven…not Kenny Chesney and bluegrass (well, except, I actually do like Alison Krauss…but that’s irrelevant).  I admit I find old Southern charm endearing: opening doors, pumping the gas for me, saying please and thank you.  But Elmer, frankly, was none of these and thus less than endearing.

Or there’s the perpetual bachelor.  You know this one.  The one that needs to drive a bright red Corvette at incredibly high speeds to solidify his status as a male…and an apparently wealthy, well established one.  This is the same guy that leaves a $2 dollar tip for our waitress; yes, the waitress he spent the last hour and a half hassling and trying to be witty with.  She deserved a freakin’ million dollar tip for the gracious art of handling him that she displayed.  Yes, this is also the gentlemen that feels compelled to tell you all about himself without ever thinking to ask a question in your direction.  And he’s so proud of his potentially endearing Southern Charm traits aforementioned that he finds it necessary to point them out…oh, aren’t I one lucky girl to be seen with you…to have you treat me so delicately, well except for the fact that you’re eyeing every hussy in the place.  And if it wasn’t for the strut and whole bottle of hair gel on your five remaining hairs, you might’ve actually had a little of that charm.

I’m not bitter or disillusioned, though I would understand if you picked-up a slight lean towards that tone.  It’s more just an, “oh, would you leave it be?” tone.  I don’t want to be fixed up anymore.  I don’t want someone else to tell me who my perfect match is.  I don’t want to act like I’m not insulted and try to walk on egg shells explaining why he was NOT in fact, my ideal, without insulting their sisters, aunts, mothers, roommates, coworkers, and friends.  I don’t want to have to convince people that it’s okay, I’m single, not terminally ill.  I don’t want to manipulate or try to figure out my romantic destiny.  I just want to trust God to orchestrate it in His perfect timing…He is after all the giver of perfect gifts.  And I want to be me and real and comfortable and did I say real…I meant that!  I really just want to be pursued…by a normal, decent, Godly man.  And he doesn’t have to be perfect, I realize I was pretty harsh above. I’m an idealist and a realist all rolled into one.  I could look past country music or hair gel addictions, I think. It’s the principal of it, for me.  I deserve to be pursued and appreciated and treasured, not viewed as a charity case.  And I deserve to have the opportunity to do the same for someone else, to not be coaxed or convinced into spending time with someone, but to genuinely admire them and desire time with them.

~ by Kara Belcher on February 26, 2008.