The Landlady delves into online dating

Even though I’m now very much the less-youthful side of 40, I have never succumbed to Internet dating. Thus far, I’ve still been able to meet people by going out to the pub in the normal way, although most of the people I’ve met recently have been deeply unsuitable or fundamentally flawed in one way or another.

I recently went on a post-Christmas shopping trip to New York with The Big Daughter and, the week before we went, had the hair-brained idea that I would go onto an American dating site and arrange a date with a stranger for one of the nights I was there. Even if it all went very badly, at least I’d have something to write about.

“I later found out he was a great speller, he just couldn’t see very well”

With two days to spare, I cobbled together a ‘profile’, and stated that I was a Brit who would be in New York in January. I stuck up a rather hazy picture taken of me at a recent Christmas party and waited for the offers to flood in. They trickled more than flooded, but trickle they did in a slightly lacklustre way.

‘Your hot!’ proclaimed one man from Queens, with an enthusiasm which did nothing to detract from his appalling grasp of grammar. I was tempted to message back asking ‘My hot what? My hot water bottle? My hot dinner?’ Several messages later, which included a dearth of ‘your sexy’, ‘your funny’ and ‘your cute’ I surmised that Internet dating was definitely the way forward as miss-spellers could be eliminated at the touch of a button. Having said this, I spent the best part of the last decade with a man whose first post-date text to me read ‘apoligies for this late text’. Luckily for him, his cuteness outweighed his lack of verbal dexterity. Besides, I later found out he was a great speller, he just couldn’t see very well, which probably explains why he fell for me in the first place…

After more of this grammatical suicide, rather too much mention of ‘The Lord’ and a message from a 7’2” tall (I found this hard to believe) man in Kuala Lumpur asking me to be his ‘fried’(a cannibal perhaps?), I decided that I should perhaps choose someone, rather than let them choose me.

Seven foot cannibals and poor-spellers were dispatched to the great E bin in the ether and I quickly rushed through my suggested matches. Only one of them looked like the sort of person I’d usually date, so I sent him a message saying I’d be in his ‘hood from tomorrow, if he fancied meeting up’. I clicked send and sat back awaiting a response…

Illustration: Jake McDonald

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