As much fun as a barrel of starving eels...

It’s been a year. I haven’t dated in a year, now. It was a much-needed break, and I’m glad I took it. When your heart is pulverized and your chest physically hurts from the ache therein, when you’re so bruised emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, and mentally that you find it impossible to force your face into a smile, let alone laugh, when you become physically ill because of the pain of a broken heart, it’s probably a good idea to take some time off.

I’ve never enjoyed dating, but it’s never been much of an issue, since it’s extremely rare that I get invited to date. I hate the games and the nonsense. I have never been so lonely that I was willing to put up with all of the horse hooey that goes with having a social life. Even now, I don’t have any desire to date. I don’t want to go through all of the hassle of getting ready and picking out an outfit (after trying on 12 different things—if you care at all) and spending an entire evening with someone who may or may not be capable of carrying on a coherent conversation, making small-talk, pretending interest in topics that have nothing to do with anything I might possibly want to discuss, trying to figure out the protocol for first dates/blind dates/etc., keeping the little weasel in check so that he doesn’t think it’s alright to physically accost me, and going home with a screaming headache and a desire for either strong libation or hibernation… NOT fun.

For those of you who are not currently in the dating pool, I’ll outline a list of my top ten least favorite things about dating. On some dates, some of these were transposed…

1. Getting asked out by guys I don’t want to go out with and/or unavailable (MARRIED) guys.
2. Deciding whether or not I care enough about the possibility of a relationship with this guy to care about how I look, or how he thinks I look.
3. Deciding what to wear—trying on half my closet, and tossing out my closet in its entirety based on the fact that it’s inappropriate for the planned activity (things that require high heels for physical activity, comfortable clothes for more formal activity, etc.), it makes me look like a walrus with a water-retention problem (at this point it’s probably too late to decide to diet 6 months prior to accepting the invitation), or it gives the impression that I’d be interested in getting pawed by this bonehead.
4. Being hit with various unpalatable traits: poor hygiene, obnoxious cologne, bad breath, verbal mannerisms that beg me to beat him black and blue with a dictionary/elocution manual/English textbook/Miss Manners book/etc., ticks (no, not the blood-suckers—I can deal with those) such as rapid eye-blinking/hand-movements/foot-tapping/etc., and a host of all other manner of annoyances.
5. Finding out that the individual in question isn’t just annoying, but is genuinely unlikable.
6. Poor or annoying driving habits.
7. Bad taste—food, jokes, activities, whatever.
8. Fending off a physical assault. PET PEEVE ALERT: You are NOT entitled to any physical touch, based solely on the fact that you put my dinner on your credit card. PERIOD. I get to make the decision whether or not I allow you to hold my hand on the 3rd date. ;)
9. Running out of common interests or things to discuss.
10. Keeping him from asking for a second date, inviting himself over, stalking me, etc…

All that being as it may, I’ve not been very eager to put my head back on the old dating chopping-block, shockingly enough. This past year has been a blessed respite from my previously non-existent dating/social life. Unfortunately, here is the point of my impasse. I have every intention of getting married and having piles of adorable children with my manly-man husband, but the commonly accepted North American ritual of dating tends to be the main one of very few viable options to finding Mr. Manly-Man and becoming his blushing bride. The ever present biological time bomb is ticking away, and I find myself reluctantly (oh-so-recalcitrantly, dragging my feet) back on the market.

I have forced myself to renew my match.com membership. With a prayer and a genuflection, I am tentatively dangling my toe in the ever-shrinking, ever-murkier pool that is the potential-mate-selection available to a nearly-thirty, traditional woman in the 21st Century. Please pray for me. :D

Much Love.
L~