Definition of Dating

Nice way to show up, but too much on a first date.

So…a little over a week ago I started doing the dating thing again.  Despite the fact that I am still completely enamored with a certain tall, sweet and ever-so intelligent professor.  If it ain’t working, ya gots to move on. *She says with still a glimmer of hope that it will, in fact, work*

I put a toe warily into the dating pool, checking for proper temperature before diving in.  As a rule, I hate dating. Absolutely hate it.  I know that as a reasonably attractive and semi-normal woman this is not typical.  I am supposed to like dating.

Now, the more skeptical males say, “well, at least you get a free meal out of it.”  As if getting a plate of pasta and some crostini are worth listening to inane drivel all night.  I would much prefer to eat at home, thank you very much.  In many cases I would prefer to do laundry. Or iron. Or stick burning hot pokers into my eyeballs.

Nothing personal against most men…but I have a very specific type that I like.  I am a giraffe (5′ 10.5″) so tall is pretty much mandatory…only pretty much…my ex-husband was 5’9″ but he is also smarter than 99% of the general population.  I also need an IQ in the stratosphere because I refuse to dumb down, despite being told it would be easier to find a man that way.  An even temper, a certain degree of neatness, a lack of political correctness but an empathy for others, an avid adoration of my cooking, timeliness, no desire to control everything, a natural scent that makes me want to inhale his essence.  And lots of hot, sweaty monkey sex when we get to that point. Lots.  As in, “unless you have to actually be at work, get in this bed, on the kitchen table, into the shower, up against this wall or hanging from this chandelier. Now.”

What would he get in return for offering all these fine qualities one might query?  A tall, long-legged, wickedly intelligent, even-tempered, clean, searingly politically incorrect, empathetic, good-cooking, punctual, relaxed girlfriend who smells good.  And is as horny as a 13 year old boy who just found his dad’s stash of porn.

Chances of me finding all of those characteristics in one live, breathing and unattached male…close to zero.  Thus, the reason I hate dating.  I have red flags that eliminate most people immediately from my potential dating pool and most men have at least one.  This does not mean that said flagged men have something innately wrong with them.  It means they don’t work for me, and I’m kind of a freak so that may be a compliment.

There is a needle in the haystack that is Tuscany…I just want to find it without dating.  Because, to me, the definition of dating is: torture.