I want to be married. And yet, I’m still single. Thinking God might need a more active role from me, I decided to join the online dating scene through eHarmony. It was a three-month adventure, for sure, but not one I care to repeat. Everyone I never wanted to meet, I met via online dating.
The very first match I received was an exceptionally attractive man, whose name shall remain anonymous. I’ll simply refer to him as The Camel. (Watch out – he spits.)
We talked on the phone twice, and then agreed to meet in a public place. Sure I thought he talked a lot, but I believed in grace and wrote it off as nervousness. Before we met, he asked that no matter what, we keep the date to two hours. That sounded like a reasonable boundary, so I agreed.
Then, I met The Camel in person.
Bless his heart, he talked so much, he didn’t swallow his saliva. (Yes, Really.) He spit all over me: in my water, in my coffee, on my plate of food, in my hair, on my clothes, on my face.
I tried to interrupt him. (He needed to swallow and my poor ears needed a break.)
He furrowed his brow and responded, “You interrupted me. Where was I? Oh yes… I remember…” And he continued with his never-ending monologue. (At least he swallowed once.)
I offered him my food – after all, he spit over most of it. AND HE TOOK IT.
I considered grabbing my purse and making a run for it. (But I did agree to two hours…) So I made the most of each spittle, by making ugly faces and gargantuanly rubbing wherever the saliva landed. He didn’t take the subtle hints.
I closely eyed my watch. At exactly 2:00 pm, I interrupted him and said, “The two hours are up. Bye.” And I quickly got up, put my coat on, and made a bee-line for the door.
Perhaps impressed that I had sat quietly for two hours, he wanted a hug. “Uhg… Ok. Fine.”
That’s when I realized The Camel didn’t use deodorant. He left his remarkably pungent odor on my coat, which I then had to smell all the way home. (It could have made a funny sitcom, had it not been my life.)
Had I known this was a foreshadow of my three month subscription, I would have cancelled then. I met The Bullhorn-Evangelist, The Wanna-Be-Rock-Star, the many Never-Left-The-Nests and College-Drop-Outs, not to be trumped by The Midlife Crises. (They come out of the woodwork, actually.)
EHarmony boasts of making matches based on compatibility. I now think that means if you’re looking for the opposite sex, you get matched to the opposite sex.
Some of us are single because of life circumstances. Others are single due to more discernible reasons. And I may or may not have met most of them through the online match-making scene.
In my three-month subscription, I averaged 15-hours-a-week: reading profiles, online chats, phone calls, Skype, and meeting in-person. It was exhausting, but I persevered with hope. And now, that’s time I can never reclaim.
The good news is – I now can fearlessly say no to a date.
I wonder if being single when you don’t want to be is a product of the Fall. After all, relational disconnection is not what God had in mind when he created Adam and Eve.
So what am I to do, when what I want to be is a Mrs.? I’m still praying and waiting on the Lord. But no, I’m not online dating.