A man whom I know, becomes gleeful whenever he learns that I am distressed. He rubs his hands together and smiles as he delivers the news to me, “I love it when you’re suffering, because you suffer so well, so entertainingly!”

Today, no doubt, he must be smiling broadly because I am once again experiencing the emotional yo-yo that is PoF (Plenty of Fish) on-line dating, where hopes are raised high, then dashed to the ground with the frequent discovery of poorly camouflaged deceits. One woman told me of having met a supposedly 5’8″ non-smoking fellow whom she looked down upon from her 5’6″ stature. He smelled of smoke, and when a cigarette pack fell from his jacket pocket he claimed that he bought and kept cigarettes for his friends who smoked.

Then there was the fellow who was unable to recognize his date from her posted photo. When he told her that she didn’t bear much resemblance to the photo that had enticed him to contact her, she was then honest. She said, “Oh that’s my sister. She’s prettier than I am.” Uh-huh.

That is PoF. Very libertarian in many ways. Do what you want. Do what you think you can get away with. Happily, there are also many souls who post recent pictures of themselves, state their interests and goals accurately, then hope to connect with someone who will accept them the way they are.

I am a case in point. I didn’t lie about my age as so many do. It has caused me problems because you select groups of people who may or may not contact you. So if I were drawn to a lady a few years younger than I, and she was tired of hearing from 82 year-old guys, she would probably put an age restriction on her incoming mail. When that age restriction excludes me, I am frustrated and sometimes dis-spirited. Happily, I am also creative and have found a way of signalling to the lass that she should pay attention to me. Once she replies to my non-mail signal, usually politely, but I sometimes expect the blunt form, “WHAT?” her contacting me opens her door to my mail despite my age and my presumed decrepitude.

Another issue that has arisen for me is in how I express myself. I saw a woman on-line and sent her a note. She offered no response. (Not a good sign.) I sent her another note saying that I thought I had seen her someplace and asking her if she perhaps worked in a place that had a high public profile. A cashier or bank teller perhaps? I sent my note, then went down to the billiards club to play snooker. The billiards club is just one of many rooms at the centre, so there at reception was the very woman I had messaged!

I politely introduced myself to her, she acknowledged being on PoF, then said, “Oh you’re the guy who uses all those high-falutin’ words!” I was shocked to have been so summarily categorized and dismissed, but I accepted the truth of what she had said and acknowledged it by using only a few low-falutin’ words. I bowed briefly and said, “That would be me.”   Then I walked away as she returned quickly to her receptionist duties. I had presented myself and had been told, “No.”  Sometimes that’s all there is to it.

Sometime later, a female friend was advising me on my approach to prospective dates. She said, “Don’t use too many five-dollar words in your first few sentences.” I took exception to that characterization on two salient points. Point one – I thought she had de-valued my words. I use ten-dollar words, not five-dollar ones!  Phhhht!  Point two – if a woman is going to reject me on the basis of the words that naturally come to my mind, we would never get along anyway. Wouldn’t it be better to discover such a thing early rather than late?

I think I am right on that point. Despite losing many potentially joyful romps with women who might prefer to have the “upper brain,” so to speak, I really am in this thing for the long-run. I’m trying to find a compatible soul-mate with whom to stay and be loyal, be kind, have fun, joke, smile, enjoy each other’s totality. If she can’t handle my vocabulary or manner of speech, she is not for me.

It seems that that attitude does often put me into the condemned-to-suffer camp, but over my lifetime I have come to regret having engaged in a few impromptu entanglements. No, not STDs or anything morbid like that, my regrets are about how shabbily I treated the women with unannounced partings of ways. That was all in the flame of my youth, but I wouldn’t care to re-ignite that particular flame now. Now, if there is to be passion, and I am indeed ready for that, it must be based on real love, real trust, real connection, real stability, real acceptance.

Too much to ask?  We’ll see.  Meanwhile, enjoy the spectacle, the tasty treat of my torment.