In the 90's, before internet dating websites became so popular, many people met through the voice introduction personal ads in the newspaper. "What a great way to meet my soul mate," I thought, looking over two full pages of ads from men and women describing themselves with a brief paragraph. But soon I discovered this method of seeking Prince Right as easy as choosing a jury for the O.J. Simpson trial - a verdict reached after nearly fifty uncomfortable, though interesting, blind dates that seemed more like episodes.
I have a friend who feels this method of seeking a mate is an unnatural way to meet, but placing a personal ad really does beat the alternatives - singles' bars, uncomfortable fix-ups by friends whose feelings you don't want to hurt, or evenings with the novel, a great talker of passion but disabled in delivery. I'd much rather sprawl on the couch and chat with prospective mates over the phone than perch myself on a bar stool stewing the unlikely entrance of Prince Right.
After a while, I found myself standing in front of the mirror throwing makeup brushes and curling iron into an aerobics routine and wondering if the energy was all to impress an Ichabod Crane look-a-like. Despite the dates that shocked me with appearances quite opposite to their phone descriptions, I remained optimistic and continued to meet the faces of those who called my voice box in response to my ad: DWF, 35, 5'4", physically fit, administrative assistant, caring, giving, confident, creative - seeking sensitive, intelligent, down-to-earth man with depth, to share life and love.
My first situation began with a spotlight on my less than perfect legs. We take a seat in the restaurant as he tells me he finds me attractive. But next, the frog in him arose. "I was wondering," he croaked, "Are you naturally bowlegged?" Flaming over this ridiculous attention to the slight arching of my shins, I strike back. "No, I'm not. I had surgery to form them this way." Embarrassment suffocated us both as we ate and departed quickly.
For weeks I spoke on the phone to many prospective mates, including two who send gorgeous bouquets of flowers to my work. I enjoyed the conversations and went out to meet many of them, but I eventually reached a point where I needed to feel sparked before exerting my time and energy. How agonizing it is to feel trapped in uncomfortable silence and clumsy words of small talk when there is no connection. So during the next month I spent hours on the phone with a variety of men ranging from the exotic dancer to the attorney, to the young and childless never-married, to the older, wiser and divorced twice with five children.
Finally, at last, a spark ignited and a date was planned. Over a glass of wine in a smoky pub, this prospective mate shifts our getting to know you discussion to his aversion to cigarette smoke. "The reason I hate smoke so much," he says, "Is because it gets in your clothes. I mean, it even makes its way to your underwear." I take a drink of wine but gag when he finishes with, "Oh! But don't get me wrong -- I don't sniff my underwear!" The remark did little to charm me as well as the rest of the conversation. “Your makeup is so perfect. How do you do that?” he asked. “Your eyeliner is a perfect line and matches the width of the other eye's liner to a tee.” I could think of much more stimulating conversation when you are trying to get to know someone and wanted it to be with someone not so strange. I returned to filtering through the many callers who wanted me to try them on for lunch or a cup of coffee.
I found the latest messages unique. "Marcia, this is Rick. I'm a 44 year old educated professional who would like to meet you. Give me a call -- you never know -- maybe I'll be your 44 magnum!" . . . . "Hello Marcia, this is Dave. I'm 38 and a widower. I would love to find the right person. The problem is I already found her but the Lord called her home. Since I can't be with my true love until I get to heaven, I'm looking for a woman to fill that void in the meantime". . . . "Hi Marcia, this is Tom. I'm 34, tall, and good-looking. I'm also a wonderful person. In fact, if you were to talk with my mother, she'd tell you I'm the finest man you could ever meet."
It took me a few weeks, but eventually there I was, rummaging through the voice mail messages again and hoping. This time, though, was different. Swirling through a dance, I believe I had at long last found Prince Right and we have a fun two months. However, true colors soon reveal a frog masquerading as a prince. I feel like a fly eaten alive as he yearns for complete control of my life. Back to the pond with him! Months later, I dance again. Well, at least until I find myself confronted by another frog in disguise. He swayed smoothly as if ready to tango, but when lies were revealed and his baggage bulged, he joined his predecessor in the pond. I take a break from dating and reflect on my search by composing a poem:
