I can’t believe I let my friend, C, set me up on a blind date tonight. Ugh. I hate these, but I vowed to actually make an attempt at a social life this year. And when she called last weekend claiming she had the perfect man for me, I caved. Even though “perfect” in her world means single and breathing.
Maybe I can find a picture of him online and avoid having to make eye contact with every guy who walks into the bar. I try very hard to stick to just that basic information when I Google, but sometimes I can’t help myself. Isn’t info that he made political donations to a right-wing extremist important to know before inviting him out to cocktails with my liberal, “we put the ‘L’ in left,” girlfriends?
And while I don’t care much about age, as I’m now considered a “mature single” myself, it just starts off on the wrong foot if he tells me he’s 46 and I find out he runs half-marathons in the over-50 category. Sometimes it’s worrisome that I’m no longer sure what the guy has told me and what I found out for myself. But, my friend, C, assures me that I haven’t crossed over the line into stalking. (I’m following them online, after all, not hiding in the bushes outside their houses.) Besides, if this was a business meeting, you betcha I’d be Googling!