Originally written in 2005 for an online writing class with one of my favorite teachers, Laurie Wagner.  This most likely will be my only post for the week as I figure out which story to submit to Good Housekeeping’s Short Story contest.  Let me know which of my stories you like best…I’ll take that into consideration as I’m beating my head against the wall trying to make the decision, “this story or that story…”

Dancing Queen?  Try Ice Queen!

Dating has become excruciatingly painful – like having surgery without the anesthetic. You’re tired of the whole sorting process. You thought meeting guys online would be easier – at least by sorting through the profiles you could weed through the crap. Only it’s just as easy to lie online as it is in person. Probably even easier – a guy can cloak himself in anonomity like a Klingon Bird of Prey. It goes both ways because you offer up your own disguise with a screen name and a profile that’s practically cavity inducing.

The online dating service doesn’t actually screen out pyschopaths, misfits, oddballs, or the married ones looking for a sidebar fling. You’ve got to do that all by yourself. After a few bizzare emails, you think it’s easier to screen out the whack jobs at a bar. At least you might get a free martinithat way.

You keep reading, weeding and sorting. You opt to pass on few juicy emails. Like the one some guy in Maine sent you that went something like this:

“Actually I’ll bet you’re the kind of woman who can patch a bullet wound, swim the Piranha infested Amazon, and go into the rain forest with your Swiss Army knife, and build a tree condo with it, complete with running water. Just kidding. In any event, you’re probably a nice person and fun to get to know.”

Okie dokie…that’s a little over the top. Delete.

Ah, but there’s also the one from the guy who couldn’t make up his mind if he were human or canine…

“Wow! You positively stun me! We seem to share a wide range of perspectives, interests as well as an artful appreciation for what a blessing a keen sense of humor can be in everyday life. My, my, aren’t you lovely! You are enough to make even a good doggie break his leash, so here I am wagging my tail, perking my ears and ready to bark to get your attention. Instead, though, I thought I would limit myself to saying hello, introducing myself, and letting you know of my interest.”

Woof woof. Delete.

Then there’s the men you actually decided to meet.

What. Were. You. Thinking? 

First, you meet Bachelor #1 the technical director for the fine arts department at a prestigious Boston college. Bachelor #1 desperately needed
an update. Everything about him screamed bad 80′s – from the tweed jacket to the large framed wire glasses he wore. He looked only slightly better after two Grey Goose cosmopolitians. But even the alcohol couldn’t numb you to his nervousness and his Martin Mull nerdiness…something even Queer Eye for the Straight Guy couldn’t rescue.

A few weeks later, you meet Bachelor #2 the professional, out-of-work photographer, newly divorced, father of two, who you nicknamed Mr. Amazing Green Eyes. By the third date,  you saw potential everywhere but in the end, Mr. Amazing Green Eyes couldn’t get out of his own way…or figure out how to be a divorced dad living on his own…or, as the book says, “he just wasn’t that into you.”

Then came Bachelor #3 – Mr. “I make quality of life choices” who wouldn’t know quality if it slapped him upside the head. A hypocritical piece of work – what exactly did he say about zoning laws, losing his business, and losing a million dollars?  The way he spoke about it you thought it happened last week…but it happened seven years ago. And he said he was going take this bitter pill to his grave.

Okay…you do that dude. And you wondered, as you told him thanks but no thanks, how’s that quality of life choice working for you?

Fortunately for you, travel plans interupted your dating merry-go-round. Trips to Los Angeles and Las Vegas reminded you just how much you enjoy your single-hood. You’re your own woman and absolutely free to roam wherever you want to go. Free to make decisions for yourself and not worry if it’s going to impact someone else. 

Yeah, right. Who are you trying to kid? Fess up girl – you’d like to have a man in your life again.

Introducing the Frosty Bitch

While you’re being honest, the online dating thing just isn’t working. And Bachelor #4, who looks nothing like the picture he posted, is the last online guy you’ll meet. Why you even went through the motions to meet him is still a mystery. Did you do it just to say, “see, I’m out there?” Did you do it on the slim to none chance that he could have been “Mr. Wonderful?” Why did you go through with it? And why did you put him through the Frosty Bitch from Hell routine?

Poor Bachelor #4. But not really. As you stood in line for your iced carmel machiato you wished and hoped that he wouldn’t show. But there he was, right next to you, paying for your Starbucks coffee. You didn’t recognize him. And he asks if he looks like his picture. Nope. “Oh that’s not good,” he says.

The meet and greet went directly to hell without passing go. You crossed your arms and you barely made eye contact. You practically grunted your way through the strained conversation hoping he’d get the “I’m so not into you” hint. You did your best Ice Queen impression and surprisingly, he still asked you to go see the Pink Martinis with him. Even with a name like that and knowing they’re playing with the Boston Symphony Orchestra, you pass.

“No, no thanks.” And you wonder if this guy is a glutton for punishment.

Or if he just likes Frosty Bitches from Hell.

© Peggy Nolan, 2005, 2009