Welcome to yet another crazy blog post about the Match.com men. This is my eighth entry of my “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” series. The email exchanges never cease to amaze me.
The first man up was a retired bachelor, at the upper end of my range age. His profile picture screamed Hannibal Lecter, sans straight jacket.
“I had a dream about you last night. I couldn’t stop kissing your neck. I think it was the musk oil and your soft skin creating a sweet spot I couldn’t resist! Do you think that is a typical guy thought, or is it possible that women really are special to me? Just wondering… CyberCasanova.”
What the ??? Typical guys do not think this way. Musk oil? Who talks about, much less dreams about, musk oil? As far as being special goes, maybe the kind of “special” that is tonight’s dinner entrée with fava beans and Chianti.
I don’t know about you, but that was entirely too bizarre for me. There was no, “Hello.” Or even a, “Good evening.” I can not believe this guy thought that was an acceptable introductory greeting.
I replied, “Honestly, I found it to be forward and creepy since we don’t know each other. I wish you luck finding a match.”
“I think you misinterpreted my comedic style email about a thought experiment of how men think when we see a pretty girl and react with romance laden thoughts of love and affection as if we fast forwarded through courting to a point in the relationship where friendship develops into partners.”
Huh? A comedic thought experiment? You have got to be kidding me. I didn’t find any of it particularly funny.
It has been said that there is a fine line between genius and insanity. This guy seemed to have crossed that line.
“It didn’t come across as comedic. You might want to rethink your approach. Best of luck to you.”
“We are what our genes say we are and if it’s a smiling, happy, pretty girl that lifts us to happiness to want to live another day, then the Cosmos has set forth profound physical laws and properties to help ensure the survival of our species. A gentleman knows to look but not touch unless given permission. The Devil doesn’t make us, the Cosmos does. You’re probably just another fake profiler that doesn’t know the difference between E=mc2 and their hat size. Just sayin’… CyberEinstein.”
You’re freaking nuts! And obviously, the Cosmos is slacking big time, because you’ve survived this long.
I loved his slam on my integrity and intelligence. I think I will refer to him as “CyberNutJob.” And the Cosmos did not make me say it, nor did the Devil. I did it all on my own without consulting my genetic code or altering the space-time continuum.
The next bachelor did not want to take “no” for an answer. He was within my age range. However, we had nothing in common based on our profiles. Absolutely positively nothing.
Every picture posted was shirtless. And most were old pictures. They looked like Polaroids from the ’70s. His profile and his emails were written in all capital letters. So, he was lazy on top of everything else. I apologize for the caps, but I want to give you the true essence of the exchange.
“JULIET…LET ME BE YOUR ROMEO.”
“We do not have enough in common. I wish you luck finding a match.”
“ROMEO NEEDS YOU…I’LL COME TO YOU….I PROMISE I’M AS GOOD AS ADVERTISED…ONLY 10 TIMES BETTER!”
“No, thank you.”
“ROMEO CAN’T BE ROMEO WITHOUT YOU.”
I did not reply.
Two days later, he sent, “I KNOW…YOU SAID NO…I DO RESPECT THAT…BUT I TRUELY BELIEVE YOU MISSED JUDGED ME.”
No, I definitely did not. All I want to do is correct your grammar, spelling and punctuation.
“You do not respect me because you keep contacting me. My answer is no.”
“I DO RESPECT…BUT COULD YOU TELL ME WHY…MAYBE I’LL LEARN SOMETHING. BE NICE.”
Oh my God! Seriously? Okay, buddy, you asked for it. And I’ll try to be as nice as possible.
“No, you really don’t respect me because you insist on making me justify my answer. You are not my type, and I am not attracted to you. You have cats. You smoke. You want children. You have so many grammatical errors in your profile, I lost track. You indicate that you will become violent when defending loved ones. You posted shirtless pictures only. And last, but not least, you refuse to take ‘no’ for an answer. Nothing you say will cause me to change my mind. Please do not contact me again.”
Well, you know he did. But I ignored him, and he eventually went away. Ugh!
The next bachelor was a retired lawyer. He was well out of my age range.
“Good looking, sometimes charming, generally well-behaved lawyer calling.”
“You have a dog, and I am severely allergic to dogs. I wish you luck finding a match.”
“Pity. Outside of my dog we are a pretty good romantic prospect. I’m as pretty as you, and as smart, creative, sophisticated and wealthy as you’ll find in these parts. Don’t rule me out on the onset.”
Friends, he was not as pretty as me. Not even close. God forgive me, but the way he styled his red hair made him look like a clown. Not quite Stephen King’s, It, clown, more like a circus clown.
“My reaction to animals is anaphylactic. So I can not be around them or people who own them. Best of luck.”
“I have a solution! No hugging, kissing, or ETC. pending the occurrence of at least one of the following:
1) You become uncontrollably driven to hug, kiss, or etc. with me so as to suffer a bad reaction notwithstanding.
In your freaking dreams!
2) You become gradually (and miraculously) acclimated. (I GROW ON YOU)
You would grow on me like a flesh-eating disease!
3) You take a Sudafed or other effective medication. (I will pay for testing and treatment- ha ha)
Over-the-counter meds don’t work for anaphylaxis, moron.
4) I take a ridiculously thorough bath beforehand. (You can watch!)
Yuck!!! I shudder at the mere thought. You could not pay me to watch.
5) My poor dog dies.
I pity that dog for having to put up with you.
6) We give it a CAREFUL AND JUDICIOUS TRY.
Oh sure, because you’re not the one risking your life. Easy for you to say, “Let’s give it a shot.” You’re not the one who could die.
Let’s meet for coffee, sweetness, I promise you won’t get the hives!”
Not if you were the last man on earth!
Life with this guy would consist of one idiotic, never-ending argument after another. Talk about exhausting.
“I am not persuaded by your arguments. Anaphylaxis is not like a regular allergy. There is no medication I can take to avoid it. I am sorry, but my answer is still no. I wish you luck finding a match.”
“I know perfectly well the effects of anaphylactic shock. It is after all, an allergic reaction, which is not unique to yourself. Changes in your physical environment could ameliorate the symptoms. In addition to physical factors, the power of the mind cannot be ignored and can produce remarkable things.”
Sure! Let me just mentally will my throat not to close and miraculously stop myself from dying due to the lack of oxygen. Gee, why didn’t I think of that before??? If it was that easy, I would have tried it with the cowboy from a few posts back. I would not waste my newly-discovered superpowers on the likes of you.
I did not reply because I knew he would keep arguing. He sent four more emails. I ignored each one.
Then, a short time later, he sent the same initial email to me. But another quickly followed. It read, “Oops forgot! You’re the anti-dog screwball, never mind.”
As I shook my head in dismay, a little voice beckoned to me. Behold! It is a jar of Nutella® calling my name. Mmm…hazelnuts – the kind of nuts a girl can truly love!
Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal