True love is out there

Jeg har overspringshandlet i dag. På to-do-listen stod bl.a. tøjvask, støvsugning, og ukrudtslugning. Ingen af delene har jeg nået; til gengæld er jeg stolt over at kunne sætte flueben ved telefonsnak, kartoffelhypning, og Verdens Længste Middagslur (hej, Indre Erna).

Da jeg var nået igennem denne udmattende agenda var jeg lidt på facebook, lidt på twitter, og lidt på dating.dk hvor jeg jo stadig har en profil men fordi jeg er for nærig til at smide penge efter den, kan jeg ikke hverken skrive til folk eller se, hvem der "kigger" på mig. Men jeg kan vindues-shoppe, kan jeg. Og det gør jeg. Med noget blandede følelser, for det jeg ser mest, er enten mænd der er godt på vej til at ligne min far (og min far er en meget flot mand, men jo altså ikke ligefrem i min "målgruppe"), mænd der er i den modsatte grøft og ligner nogen jeg datede i mine teenage-år, og så sker der en sjælden gang det, at jeg ser en jeg kender i virkeligheden. Eller kender til i virkeligheden. For eksempel en (meget fjern) bekendts ægtemand. Av.

Men i dag så jeg en, som muligvis kunne friste mig til at slippe nogle af mine surt fornøjeligt optjente slanter. Læs, og bedøm selv ...

@ N ~ today is a public holiday here in Denmark.  I had a to-do list, of course, and have failed to tick off laundry, hoovering, and weeding. But the day is not at all wasted because I'm proud to say I managed to fit in an hour-long telephone conversation, earthing up my potatoes (which are starting to sprout, yay), and taking The Longest Nap Ever.

When I awoke from the latter I checked facebook, twitter, and then that dating site I used a couple of years ago (remember the November of 11 first dates). I still have a profile on there but it's dormant because I'm too tightfisted to pay the exorbitant membership fees. That means I can't write to anyone, and I can't see who has been looking at my profile. But I can window shop - and I do.

It's usually a dull experience. Most of them either look a bit like my dad or like they're trying to impersonate Bryan Adams' "18 till I die". A couple of them I actually know in real life. And the other day I saw someone who is, as far as I'm aware, married to a distant acquaintance of mine. Ouch.

But today, I came across this one. And if ever there was someone who could tempt me into renewing my membership, it just might be him. See for yourself:

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SWM in dead-end job seeks dumpy neurotic for mutual psychological torture, tepid sex, and co-dependency. I enjoy drinking, smoking, pornography, and self-righteous indignation.

I have middling intelligence but try to appear smarter by affecting a world-weary air, memorising useless facts, and chuckling at my own mean-spirited, agenda-driven jokes.

I'm 37, but look 47 and feel 57. You are a whiny, bitter troll with a misplaced sense of entitlement and unrealistic expectations. In time you will become coolly hostile when I don't fulfill every unmet need you've ever had. Bonus points if you just finished screwing every boy in town and but now want to take it slow with me.

My perfect night would include getting hammered in a sleazy bar while you flirt with horny shrivelled old drunks, followed by an embarrassing screaming match. I would be open to an unsatisfying fling that leaves me filled with regret and dread but prefer a long-term, soul crushing descent into booze and pills. No friendships. I don't need any bloody friends.

Age unimportant, but I will condescend to women under 30 and rehash mother issues with women over 57.

Serious replies only, please.

P.S. If you laughed at least once reading this, you are my kind of girl.
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(image from graphicsfairy.com)