70s Love…nothing to do with the 1970s.
Crashing into on-line dating seemed like a simple thing to do; choose a website that offered appropriately aged and attired members of the opposite sex (my choice), peruse the photos of available candidates within driving distance, pick a couple photos that appeal, let them know I was available and, viola. Wrong. The candidates wanted things like recent photos and a statement of character and ideals. Hmm. The possibilities are daunting. How do I make myself so desirable in words that even with a recent photo makes the ladies hit the like button for ‘Game On’.
Didn’t happen the way I envisioned it. Of course my vision was based on warped media presentations where reality was fiction. I had to work hard to get an innocent, innocuous coffee meet in a public place. My thoughts were that most female candidates either weren’t really interested in meeting anyone or it was not a convenient time in their lives or they had some bad experiences to put them off the chase. I went unmet to a couple coffee dates and suspected the lady came in the back way, saw me waiting, then made their way out without so much as a how-do-you-do.
Finally scored some coffee meets. The ladies who agreed to meet, tended to be my age, and were interesting and lovely. They asked pointed questions like what was I looking for in a relationship, i.e. LTR (long-term relationship), friend, goals, willingness to relocate, travel desires, lifestyle, but rarely romantic notions. The questions caught me by surprise, a different one every time. I felt like I was on trial. A simple romance should be easy. I mean, after all, a ‘senior persons’ we had been through basic training so why not get on with it. And how could anyone answer those serious questions at a first meet over coffee? Plus, for me, there were these nagging unanswered questions: What did I need from a woman besides a romantic interlude? Did I want to ‘fall in love’ or was love something that even needed to be considered at 70? Do older people need to be in love to be happy?
Only a few of the women I met went on to the next meeting stage where the rubber meets the road. The meetings were arranged through common interests and none fit the saucy let’s-get-it-on variety. My cause seemed lost. I felt as though I would never be more than a friend versus a lover; not to say that was bad, just not what I was looking for.
I was learning about women. I developed a tremendous amount of respect for women who were willing to let themselves be cataloged, compared, and judged by everyone, especially other competitors, women, by trying to give it their best. Honestly, there were many that could be easily overlooked. Some of the bios and photos were sadly lacking, as in not-even-trying and easy to disregard. Trust me, it is not easy.
A photo showed up in my ‘possible’ file with a name that intrigued me. (When you sign up for a site you are encouraged to use a phrase instead of a name. Mine was similar to Hopeless Romantic) The lady had chosen an unflattering photo, hat pulled down to her glasses and fall-like coat pulled up around her neck, but a slight smile that said ‘Dare you to take a closer look’, so I read her mysterious, verse-like bio and reached out. She took a while getting back to me with a sly reference to a painting in the background of my posted bio-pic. Not understanding her reply I asked about the reference. She had enlarged my photo to read the title of the painting behind me. Nina, her real name, agreed to meet me for coffee.
michaeljerometroy 