August 22, 2011 | 9:44 pm
Posted by Ilana Angel
I have received an email from a man on an online dating site, 3 times. Yes, the exact same email, for 3 straight days, from the same man. It reads: You look and sound terrific. I would love to meet and talk with you on the phone. Take care Dave. I have replied all 3 times with a polite note saying I am not interested, but wishing him the best with his search.
I have taken the time to reply differently each time, so as not to embarrass him, should he not realize he continues to contact the same person. Today, I got the dreaded but exciting notification from the online dating hell train, that I have received an email. I logged on with despair and excitement only to find that it was Dave. Again. That makes 4 days.
Upon seeing the email from Dave, I looked around to see what I could impale myself with. It was truly my first thought. Before I laughed, thought to myself he was a loser, or wondered if it was me who was the loser, I looked around to see what I could jab in my own hand. This is the reality of online dating. Finding love is secondary to not impaling myself.
If it weren’t so sad it would be hilarious. By sad of course I mean it’s not sad at all. It is completely hilarious. The only thing funnier than the desire to impale oneself, is the “success stories” section of this particular website, which I always tell myself I will avoid, only to end up reading the essays about how they had practically given up, only to find love.
So now I’ve been repulsed by Dave, annoyed by the happy couple, and just as I am about to impale myself with the letter opener I luckily found on my desk, I get an email from a man I recognized. I did not recognize him because I knew him, but rather because the photo he has posted is the same picture from a million years ago when I was first on this site.
I have not written back to him because I have a letter opener stuck through my hand, but I will. I will write him and let him know that while I appreciate both his kind note, and the interest, I do not think we are a match. I will wish him the best with his search. Note to self: when you stop bleeding, write the old man with the 10 year old picture and tell him no.
And so my ride on the online dating train ride to hell continues. My hopeless romantic side hopes the ER Doc who does the stitches in my hand is cute, and my logical side is thankful that in my moment of madness I remembered to stab my left hand, as I am right handed. Will Dave write me again tomorrow? I hope not, but just in case, I am keeping the faith.
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