seeing is believing

The predictions for this year stated there will be an increase in global warming, terrorism and blind dating.  I can handle the first two, somehow they seem less daunting.  But a blind date?  Cooling the earth is way less challenging. 

And don’t get me wrong, I went on a blind date once, so it’s not as if I’m discarding the idea willy-nilly.   But blind dating is like cowboy boots.  Just because they’re back doesn’t mean I plan to get a pair.

Anyway, what’s wrong with internet dating?  Who wouldn’t prefer to sit alone in a bathrobe sipping coffee and trawling through misleading photos, pretending to be charming and witty in e-mails?  But then on the other hand, maybe web dating is too easy.  Maybe people are nostalgic for getting dressed up, having no idea what your date will look like, the exhilarating rush of anticipation, and then being totally bummed out and forced to sit through dinner for two hours.

 Maybe they like the old-fashioned feeling of disappointment. 

The last time I went on a blind date – actually the one and only time – I was fixed up by a  really close girlfriend.  Even her husband weighed in on the match and agreed we were a perfect fit. 

Having spoken on the phone first, he agreed to pick me up and take me to dinner at an upscale local restaurant.  When he arrived in a truck, I knew it would be a long night. 

It’s not that I’m a super snob about a car, but just like the cowboy boots, I don’t do trucks either.  They probably go together anyway along with deer hunting.  Something else I don’t do.

Predictably the evening was torture for both of us.  We stuck it out though, because we didn’t want to hurt the other person’s feelings.  But I made him so nervous he knocked over his glass of water and soaked my skirt.  There was no way back after that.  I knew that the right thing to do was pay for my own meal.

When he dropped me back home I ran as fast as was decorous and once inside leaned against the door and let out an audible “phew”.  I’m pretty sure I heard him squeal his tires.

Naturally I couldn’t wait to call my girlfriend.  “What were you thinking?” I asked.  “How’d it go,” she enquired.  “How’d it go?” I asked.  “Are you kidding?  He picked me up in a truck, wearing cowboy boots and talking about deer hunting season.  Where did you see any common denominators?”  “Well he seemed to be an arty type, doesn’t he make pots?” she said,  “I think of you as arty.” 

But maybe my blind date experience was better than my friend Sue’s.  At dinner she went to the restroom and came back to find he was rummaging around in his pockets and produced a syringe and cotton swabs.  “Did they tell you I’m diabetic?” he asked,  as he lifted his shirt and jabbed insulin into his stomach.  How’s that for an appetite suppressant?  She said the rest of the evening was spent talking about his diseases. 

Maybe some work out.  Madonna met her husband on a blind date.  Not that they’re still together.  But it probably helps to gloss over the “blind” bit, when you’re fabulously rich and Sting is the matchmaker.   For me though, I plan to press on with my eyes wide open.