Mr. Right Up My Alley

I might have mentioned it before, but while lazing in front of the tube watching old movies, the geniuses at Bravo targeted me for repeated airings of eHarmony, Match, and Chemistry commercials. I mean, how do they know I'm single? How do they know when I'm spending all day in my pajamas, regarding brazieres with disdain? How do they know I'm debating a real penis versus some kind of vibrating purple beaver thing? Am I that obvious?

Well, I confess. Their advertising was just too damn effective. Plus, all my friends and office mates (14 women, 0 men) pushed me to "just give it a try" so I don't have to spend all my time in testosterone-rich environments like bars. Not that there's anything wrong with that . . . So I officially lit up my VACANCY sign.

To be honest, I normally date younger men. They're generally more playful, and playful is important to me. But I thought maybe this time I would shoot for someone older, someone with a lot of life experience and time to spend on me. So I entered all the appropriate search criteria and came up totally, disappointingly, vacuously empty. There aren't a lot of hotties who have aged well, and that's important to me too. In fact, most of the pickins are a bunch of bubbas. I don't care if I do live in Texas, I don't want anything to do with a paunchy redneck in a cowboy hat, a tombstone-sized belt buckle, and a cheek-full o' chew.

In fact, the old bucks seem to have given up on presenting themselves in the best light, if the pictures they post are any indication. Yes, I'm judging. That's just part of it. Listen, if you're putting up grainy pictures of yourself in a fishing boat from fifty yards away, or holding a rifle while standing on a moving jeep in your camos, or straddling a motorcycle as an expression of your virility, let me enlighten you: That's not attractive!

Hey, I have standards. First impressions count. Did you ever buy a smokin' New Year's Eve frock (I just wanted to say frock) based on its history in the dress factory? No, it caught your eye from the rack and drew you in for a closer look. You imagined how fabulous and sexy you'd look when you stepped outta the limo in it. Only then did you try it on, see if it fit in all the right places, seal the deal and buy it.

The one scholarly guy I took a chance on for coffee and dinner turned out to be a latin Eeyore. While he had a few things in his favor (LA-tin!), it all ended rather abruptly and unpleasantly. Ladies, gender communications issues have still not evolved beyond, "I'll never understand women."

On broadening my search criteria and accepting that I just can't hang with a stodgy old fart, I did manage to find a couple of yummy prospects. By yummy, I mean intelligent, successful, family-oriented, adventurous, confident, a little vulnerable, playful, hot, and normal. Which begs the question, did your sister fill out this profile form for you? Because you're saying all the right things!

Since things are looking up, you can expect another episode of Fragrant Liar's Search for Mr. Right Up My Alley. Meanwhile, where's that catalogue with the vibrating purple beaver things?
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