READY: Looking for Mr. Maybe

From his recliner in heaven, Frank is either laughing at me or shaking his head in utter dismay.

A few weeks ago, one of my children signed me up for an older person’s dating site. It’s one of several match sites in a big internet service which purports to match up Christians, Mormons, Jews, same sex, country folk, African Americans, single parents, etc. within its 40+ online sites. I accidentally clicked on an extra option, while navigating the list of candidates, and found myself in a match category of people looking for mates who have pit bulls.

My daughter asked me to try it for two months, and if it turned out to be a waste of time, she promised to buy me a nice dinner at an expensive restaurant. 

Now mind you, I’m not desperately in search of Mr. Second Husband. It’s more like Mr. Maybe or Mr. What-the-Heck, and I’m not that highly motivated to find him.

So far, it’s not going well.

The only men who seem to like me are in New Jersey, California, Texas, Wyoming, and other states with mileage too far to drive for a casual lunch date. The option to narrow the search to Florida yields mostly Ocala, Miami, Daytona, and other southern-most cities, again too far to meet up for a face to face chat. But then, maybe the distance spares me from encountering an elderly ax murderer.  

To my amazement, the local ones are summarily ignoring my stunning profile and my brilliant accomplishments as well as my sarcastic sense of humor. I’ve done the recommended thing and sent a “flirt” to certain area potential matches, and have received no response, not even a polite “not interested.” One fellow I messaged I recognized as a Choctawhatchee classmate of 50 years ago. I expected for sure he would respond out of some sense of alumni spirit, just to say “Yes, we did indeed graduate in the same class and “Go Big Green.”

Nope, didn’t happen.

In truth, one guy did respond with a “Thanks, but I don’t believe we are a match.” Ok, Mr. TMAN777, it’s your LOSS! I could have been the best thing that ever happened to you.

I think I know why I’m such a reject in this match thing. I’m not the ugliest female on the planet, but I’m no Barbie Doll either. And I’m no spring chicken, but why would I be on a senior match website? Like Popeye said, “I am what I am, and that’s all what I am.”

And I’m OK with it.

The great majority of the men online, even if they are pot-bellied, bald, or with long white-beards, are seeking a vivacious, slender, younger lady.

Good luck with that unless you have a ton of money.

Part of me is actually relieved to be a love match loser as I’ve kind of gotten content with my single life now.  I also want to win the bet with my daughter and claim my expensive dinner along with the satisfaction of saying, “I told you this was a bad idea.”

But part of me is oddly disappointed that no one wants me. Like many women who have lost a beloved spouse, my heart still has room for another love. I miss Frank every day, but we promised each other long ago to love again if death should leave one of us alone. Had I gone first, he would have been the same devoted husband to another lady that he was to me, and I know I will be able to love another man if God sends the right one my way.

So, I’m taking my rejection for what it is. There is no Mr. Maybe, Mr. What-the-Heck, or Mr. Right in my immediate future. And I’m canceling my account at the end of the two-month trial.

A widowed lady friend, when told a co-worker was hitting on her, made an astute pronouncement. Looking at his wild shock of oily white hair, the food residue on his tie and his unzipped pants, she declared:

“There are worse things than being alone.”

Mary Ready of Destin is a twice-retired English teacher and long-time area resident. Her columns are published on Saturdays.