Yesterday I got yet another email from Match.com, and as I glanced at it just before hitting “delete,” I saw the words “free trial search—no obligation.” And instead of clicking “delete,” I clicked on the free search, curious about what I might find.
Recently an old friend begged all his Facebook connections to help him find a new woman. I know he’s sensitive and really hurting from the break-up of his marriage, but he sounded desperate. And what bothered me the most about his list of what he is looking for in a woman is that he, a man in his mid-fifties, is looking for a woman who is 32 to 44 years old.
Is that so she can take care of him when he is an old man?
I have already done that, so when I did my free trial search on Match.com, I selected ages 58 to 72. I’m willing to look at men my age as well as younger ones, but I’m not interested in one a great deal older.
Of course this is a prejudice, too, and age should not really matter at all. But this search of mine on Match.com is just theoretical, a game--nothing I intend to take to the next step.
Before they let me see the available men, Match.com asked me all kinds of questions about myself and the man I might be interested in. It was scary and thrilling at the same time.
How many times a week do I exercise? My answer was at the high end of the range for that one—4 to 5 times a week. Would that make men more or less interested in me?
Do I have children, want children, or care if he has children? Wait. Don’t they adjust these questions to fit a person’s age? Shouldn’t they be asking me about grandchildren?
Next they encouraged me to come up with a headline for myself, like “You’ll love my lasagna,” or “Let’s meet for drinks and--?”
I got bogged down in all these questions, and then became fearful that they would somehow disseminate my answers, or use them to trap me.
I log onto new websites all the time. I’m someone who feels comfortable and secure on the web. But not on Match.com. I made up a new name, gave them an obscure email address I rarely use, and a password I’ll never remember.
I was frightened by Match.com.
I’ve been a widow for only a year and a half. I’m not looking for a new partner. I can’t imagine showing anyone my naked body. Adrian and I had thirty years to get used to our aging flesh.
So what am I doing on Match.com?
Just a peek—that’s all I wanted—to see who was out there. In case.
I finally figured out that I didn’t need to keep answering all those questions in order to search for the available men in a twenty-mile radius of my zip code.
So I clicked the search button. And there they were.
I glanced at each photo for two seconds and then quickly exited, like a thief in the night.
